


Some Hero

by fringeperson



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Communication Issues, Consent Issues, Don't copy to another site, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Restitution, Time Travel, Trauma, Trust Issues, servitude, winning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 86,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: Lots of people go their whole lives unappreciated. It isn't a novel experience. But Loki owes Clint big for all the stuff he did, so as restitution/as part of his punishment, Loki offers Clint a place where he'll be appreciated. Clint doesn't trust Loki as far as he can throw the Hulk, but it's a tempting offer.~Originally posted in '13
Relationships: Clint Barton & Kaylee Frye, Clint Barton & Loki, Clint Barton & River Tam
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

Clint Barton was tinkering in his apartment in Stark Tower. He wasn't the total genius that Stark was, or the _specialised_ genius of Banner. Coming from an orphanage and a carni background before he'd joined the – how had Selvig put it? “Jack-booted thugs” brigade – hadn't left him with anywhere _near_ enough schooling to be able to keep up with the science-babble of those two, so he generally stayed away from the R-and-D floors and stuck to the apartment that Tony had been kind enough to give him. Really, truly, _actually give him_. He had _ownership_ papers of the apartment in Stark's building, even. Genius, playboy, billionaire, _philanthropist_.

The Captain had an apartment in the building too, not that he stayed there if he could help it, since he and Stark still didn't actually  _like_ each other, for all that they could work together in an emergency situation and were  _capable_ of respecting the capabilities of each other. Still just didn't  _like_ each other.

Thor had gone back to Asgard, and Natasha was still a SHIELD agent.

Hell, he would be back working there too if he could. As it was, for now, he was living off odd jobs around the city and a bit of Stark's generosity while he looked for something more stable and tinkered – he could have lived off his savings, but he preferred to not. After they'd taken their much-deserved leave of absence, he and Natasha had headed back to base to report for duty.

Natasha was welcomed back. Him? It was not so. He'd been compromised. They didn't know how deep Loki's mind-control had gone, how much might still be there. Selvig was under a closer watch than ever, but he was a great astrophysicist, hard to replace. Clint was just another sniper, and deaf in one ear at that, as though that made a difference. As far as SHIELD was concerned, he was _very_ easily replaced. Never mind that he was _the_ _best_ sniper. Never mind that he was as fluent in Mandarin as someone raised with the language and passable with a couple of other languages (thanks to a few night classes, actually). Never mind that he had his field medic qualifications and knew quite a bit more besides. It didn't matter in the face of his being compromised.

Never mind that he was  _just_ as good a spy as Natasha, and a marginally  _better_ assassin (she was completely shit with a long-distance weapon that wasn't a grappling hook or didn't do massive area damage). Hell, what with him being 'compromised', his skills in those areas probably worked  _against_ him.

Never mind that he was  _just_ as good at building and disabling  _anything_ with moving parts as Tony Stark was, even if he wasn't as insanely creative with his know-how. Never mind he could pilot anything they put him in a position to need to fly. Never mind he could craft his own weapons if he had the materials and the inclination – it was why he had so many interesting arrow-heads. Nothing to do with the R-and-D department, whatever the egg-head desk-jockeys thought.

It all just bumped him up on the threat-watch list, since he  _also_ knew so many of SHIELD's secrets, and could no longer be trusted to  _keep_ them.

He wasn't a genius, he wasn't super-anything, he wasn't irreplaceable, and he  _was_ compromised beyond an acceptable level. Clint Barton, Hawkeye, jack of whatever trade he put his mind to, had been  _humped_ by his collective bosses.

And left to tinker in his apartment.

At regular intervals, since he wasn't as obsessive as the science bro's down in R-and-D, he'd stop his tinkering, make something to eat that smelled suitably mouth-watering, and would deliver enough for two men down to Stark and Banner, along with coffee and bottles of water.

The first time he'd done that, Tony had snapped – without looking up from what he and Banner were doing – that they  _weren't to be interrupted dammit_ !

“Don't mind me,” Clint had answered, calm as you please. “I just come bearing home-made pizza with, according to JARVIS, all your favourite toppings. You can take slices as you work.”

Bruce and Tony had both looked up then, and blinked at him in surprise. Then Bruce had smiled that shy, grateful smile of his, and Tony had stuttered out a thanks, and then whatever they were working on had jerked – and Clint had been recruited to hold things still on  _both_ sides of whatever it was while the two of them were soldering.

They buzzed him down sometimes if they needed extra hands for something, but mostly he only went down there if it was three in the afternoon and they hadn't eaten anything since he'd delivered food to them at that hour the previous day. He got paid for his deliveries of food and his occasional role as an extra set of hands with what Stark thought of as petty cash, and parts for his own tinkering up in his apartment.

Which brings us back to Clint, tinkering, alone, in his apartment in Stark Tower.

“The people of this realm do not appreciate you,” a cultured, familiar voice said in a soft, sorrowful tone.

Clint jerked his head up from his work and spotted Loki standing on the opposite side of his coffee table with no trouble. He wasn't holding the spear he'd used to take over Clint's mind when they'd first met, just a few short months ago. Small consolation. The 'god' wasn't actually holding  _anything_ , and somehow that was even  _more_ worrying. Clint hadn't forgotten his time under Loki's control after all, and just because Loki had  _mostly_ used the (as Tony had once put it) “glow-stick of destiny”, did not mean that had been  _all_ that the 'god' had used.

Clint had seen Loki conjure things out of a pocket dimension of his very own, or transform things, or make things vanish, with no more than a lazy gesture. All things, he was fairly confident, were little more than the tip of the iceberg with Loki. Only that Hulk had  _really_ given the guy a  _serious_ beating had allowed them to catch the guy after Natasha had closed the portal.

“So?” Clint countered neutrally, having processed exactly what Loki had said. “Tons of people go their entire lives never being appreciated. It's hardly a novel experience.” He _wanted_ to dismiss the interloper with that comment, wanted to go back to his tinkering – a new arrowhead for his quiver – but he knew better than to take his eyes off Loki.

Even when he wasn't  _appearing_ to pose any sort of threat.

The guy had appeared out of nowhere after all, with no warning to speak of.

“ _So_ ,” Loki continued, “Odin has decided upon my 'punishment' for causing chaos in your realm. I am to make restitution to those I injured.”

“There's a fair number of families out there missing family because of what you did. You gonna pay all of _them_ visits like this one too?” Clint asked with a gesture towards the window behind Loki.

“No,” Loki answered. “They, I did not injure _personally_. They are casualties of a greater wrong-doing. I did not supplant their will with my own.”

“So, just me and Selvig then?” Clint asked. There _had_ been a couple of other SHIELD agents that Loki had caught up that way, but they had been killed by some of SHIELD's enemies that Clint had recruited to Loki's cause while under the guy's control.

Loki nodded. “I have already made a delivery of several texts to Dr Selvig. Explanations of how the science and magic of Asgard works, things that the Tesseract showed to  _me_ . More advanced than anything  _Thor_ could explain to that  _woman_ of his. You... are not so simple to make proper restitution to.”

Clint didn't so much as twitch. He wanted to snort in derision, to roll his eyes at Loki, to  _dismiss_ the 'god', to tell him to go fuck himself and never show his damned smiling face on Earth ever again where there was a chance of Clint himself ever having to see it again. Wanted to say that unless Loki could  _turn back time_ and  _not compromise him_ so that he'd still have his  _fucking job_ , then there wasn't a  _damn thing_ he could do.

He knew better than to do any of that though. He didn't take his eyes of Loki. He didn't mention anything that might involve magic – God and all His angels knew Loki just might follow through with that, and then what? It had been a minor miracle they'd won  _last time_ . He didn't think they'd be able to do it  _again_ .

“I... am sorry, Barton, for the way I took advantage of you while you were in my power,” Loki said softly. “I should not have done the things that I did.”

Clint only didn't flinch because of all his training. He was a  _spy_ , or had been, and before that (long before) he'd been a  _performer_ . He knew how to keep up a façade.

Still, being reminded of how Loki had cooed at him in that single moment of calm before they'd gone to Stuttgart, had plied his body with that silver tongue, those talented hands, and proven that his title as 'god of mischief' was one that went well with innuendo... and how, while in the thrall of Loki's power, Clint had not only  _liked it_ , but he'd also  _begged for more_ ...

It wasn't rape, because he'd  _wanted_ it,  _welcomed_ it. He wasn't drunk or drugged or forced. He'd been willing. Been more than willing. It  _was_ rape, because Clint hadn't been... well, he hadn't been completely in control of himself then. He was Loki's loyal and devoted slave, with a spell around his brain rather than a collar around his neck. Not his usual self.

“Damn right you shouldn't,” Clint agreed with a fierce frown.

Loki swallowed, and Clint would almost believe it was with nerves. “Heimdall said that you expressed a desire to put an arrow through my eye-socket,” he ventured.

“You caught the arrow that was going to do that,” Clint stated flatly. “Blew up in your face and left you to be smashed by the Hulk, as I recall.”

Loki nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “So... I thought that... I could transport you to somewhere that you  _would_ be appreciated.”

Clint raised a sceptical eyebrow over a distinctly unamused gaze.

Loki looked away. “However much  _I_ would appreciate you,” he said lowly, “I know that  _you_ would likely not be happy with such an arrangement.” He looked up and met Clint's eyes again. “I regret the  _way_ I did what I did,” he said firmly. “But not  _what_ I did, in and of itself. I would very much have liked for that to be genuine on  _both_ sides. I understand of course if that is impossible.”

“I'm flattered. Not damn likely in _this_ lifetime though,” Clint agreed darkly.

However great a lover Loki had been (and he  _had_ been a great lover, objectively speaking), Clint hadn't forgiven the guy for taking him when he hadn't been able to say 'no' to him – and just because he was (rightly) certain that Clint would have refused him if it weren't for that spell.

Loki nodded. “I had expected an answer like that,” he admitted, “and so I stood side-by-side with Heimdall, who has not forgiven me his frostbite yet, and sought a realm, a world, even a  _time_ where you would be appreciated for all your worth,” he offered.

Clint narrowed his eyes at Loki. “Like hell I'm agreeing to anything I don't know the full details of,” he said firmly.

Loki nodded. “Of course,” he agreed.

“And I don't just mean for me,” Clint added quickly. “ _If_ I leave, _if_ ,” he repeated firmly, “then I want assurances that doing so won't leave the good-guys short handed in any fatal sort of way.”

“There are others willing to take your place on the Avengers team, if that is what you are asking,” Loki said carefully. “I would venture that _none_ of them would be as valuable to the team as yourself, but I am bias in your favour, where Fury is currently biased against.”

Clint nodded. He knew he wasn't Fury's favourite person right now. Hell, he knew if Fury could replace Iron Man, he'd do it in a heartbeat. But Fury – and the Council – needed to  _control_ the dangerous elements. Needed to  _contain_ them. Stark rebelled against both, but having him on-side and as a contracted consultant worked enough to control the man. For himself? Clint was just a normal guy with some skills. He could be  _contained_ . Hell, he had barely left Stark Tower except for job interviews that ultimately hadn't panned out. He was  _already_ contained. Damn it all.

“I am still lacking the particulars of where you want to send me as recompense for the shit you pulled on me,” Clint stated, as blandly as he could – and he could do pretty damn bland. He'd taken lessons from not only Natasha, but also Coulson when the guy had still been alive – and of course he'd been an actor (of sorts) before he'd grown up and left the circus.

“When, more particularly,” Loki answered. “May I sit?” he asked.

Clint silently jerked his chin towards the chair that was, in fact, behind where Loki stood. Clint sat in it in the mornings, so that the sun would be over his shoulders and not in his eyes while he tinkered. He preferred the couch he was on at that moment, with the view of both the broken city scape sprawled beyond the window and the front door of his apartment still in his line of sight.

“Thank you,” Loki said lowly, and lowered his long frame into the chair, simultaneously pulling out a folder. An honest-to-God _folder_ , with papers in and everything. Very old-school for something in Stark Tower, even if it had been brought in by an uninvited party. “There will come a time when there will be more people than can be sustained by Midgard. Thankfully for your species, this will not occur until your people have mastered space-travel and learned how to make other worlds – planets and moons of another system – habitable for your kind.”

“And you want to send me to one of these places?” Clint asked, sceptical. “After you tried to invade with _aliens_?”

“The Chitauri are extinct thanks to the efforts of yourself and your team. Their mind was destroyed by your explosive. Their two leaders live, but to prevent _their_ further intervention with your race is part of my punishment also. You need not worry,” Loki said in assurance.

“And I'm supposed to believe the word of the 'god' of lies?” Clint questioned reasonably.

Loki swallowed nervously. “Odin has placed a binding on me, that I may speak nothing that is not truth,” he admitted, and again, he looked away from Clint's hard gaze.

“Facts and truths can be different things,” Clint spat out bitterly.

Loki nodded in acknowledgement. “Still,” he persisted, and opened the folder before he slid it across the coffee table to Clint. “If you wish to go, you must merely tell me to which of the settlements I am to deliver you. If... if you do  _not_ wish to accept this as restitution, then I must find another way to... to apologise properly for the wrongs I committed against you.”

“I don't trust you to take my eyes off you to read this,” Clint said straight up. “And since you said you want to send me where I'll be appreciated, I'll bet you've already picked a place,” he added.

Loki nodded again, eyes downcast. “There is a dossier on the craft I would send you to board in there as well as full details of the system, and how your race will come to be as you will see it, if you go. I... I will leave you to... read at your leisure, or else to return to your previous occupation. When you decide, to accept or to not, simply call my name. Heimdall will have me summoned to the Bifrost Gate and will send me to you for your answer,” Loki said, hesitantly, and stood again. He twisted his fingers a moment as he looked down at Barton, who had, indeed, not taken his eyes from Loki for even a second through the whole interview. “Also, Clint, if you  _ever_ need my aid, for  _anything_ ...” he drew his fingers apart to reveal a small, silvered medallion on a chain. “Even if it is something trivial,” he added insistently as he set the medallion down on the coffee table beside the folder. “I am your slave.”

“What? I call your name while holding the silver trinket and you pop into existence wherever I am?” Clint asked derisively, not even glancing at the medallion. He honestly wasn't sure how he liked the idea of Loki being his 'slave', having been one himself. The saying may have been 'turnabout is fair play', but Clint hadn't really been a big follower of that. Bad-guys getting their just desserts, sure, but meted out by justice rather than irony.

“It is uru, the same metal as Mjolnir, Thor's hammer,” Loki explained quietly, “mixed with the Midgard elements platinum and adimantium, and layered heavily with magic. I wear cuffs of the same,” he continued, pushing back his sleeves slightly so that Clint could see the perfect cuffs that did not even have a seam in them as they rested so _very_ closely to Loki's skin, just passed his wrists to allow for their full movement. “It works something like the legends of the djinn. I... took my inspiration for it from Disney's _Aladdin_ and the _I Dream of Genie_ sitcom when I crafted the items,” he admitted.

“So I _rub_ the thing,” Clint said flatly.

Loki nodded. “But it must be  _your_ touch, and yours alone.”

Clint was silent.

Loki shifted where he stood, bowed – deeply – to Clint, and then vanished.

“Hell in a hand-basket,” Clint swore softly to himself.

“Sir,” enquired the polite, artificial tones of JARVIS.

“Did you record that conversation?” Barton asked lowly.

“Indeed,” JARVIS agreed.

“Did you alert anybody to what was happening?”

“Mr Stark and Mr Banner left the building half an hour prior to the arrival of Mr Odinson the younger,” the AI answered. “They are presently in New Mexico. You _were_ aware of the excursion before they left.”

“Pow-wow with Foster and Testing Day,” Clint groaned. “Thank you, I'd forgotten about it for a moment there.”

“Understandable sir, given the circumstance.”

JARVIS had become Clint's main source of company these days. Natasha was away on missions a lot after all, couldn't be contacted for fear of blowing her cover, and he wasn't really inclined to talk to the rest of the Avengers about anything at all. The AI and random strangers in coffee shops (when he went, which was rarely) were pretty much it for him now. He'd only seen Pepper once, when she'd stopped by to thank him for getting Tony to eat when he was in “Wonders of Science!” mode.

“Can you verify what he said about Selvig?” Clint asked.

“I began searching as soon as it was spoken of, anticipating such a request,” JARVIS answered promptly, “and can confirm the truth of it.”

Clint breathed deeply. “What about the first thing he said?” he asked softly. “Does  _no one_ here appreciate me?”

JARVIS was silent a moment. “Sir, could you clarify if that was a rhetorical question or not?” the AI asked delicately.

Clint snorted. “Guess that's an answer in and of itself,” he grumbled. “That's your way of asking if I really want to know the answer, which means I wouldn't like it. Damn it all.”

“Statistically sir, the number of people you interact with is an extremely low percentage of the population,” JARVIS offered. “The potential of finding a person or persons yet in your current situation is -”

“Stymied by SHIELD keeping a _very_ close eye on _all_ of my activities,” Clint cut in. He slumped on his couch and sighed, tired (having a conversation with Loki was tense, and therefore exhausting) and a little depressed (it would be the 'god' of _lies_ that showed up to point out the painful and carefully avoided _truth_ ). Resigned, Clint hauled himself upright and reached for the folder that Loki had left behind for him.

The crew of the space-ship that Loki had left him details on were... well... they were good people making a living any way they could, even if they weren't entirely on the right side of the law all the time. Two soldiers who lost a war and most of their platoon, a pilot who liked to play with plastic dinosaurs, a mercenary who sent a fair chunk of his pay home to his momma and a mechanic who had gotten onto the crew because she'd gotten  _off_ on engines. There was even a high-class whore (an Alliance-approved profession when they were called a 'Companion', as this one was) who rented one of the ship's shuttles.

After having aimed an arrow at Thor that first time out in the middle of nowhere, and all the shit that had happened since, Clint liked to think that he was pretty good about not being shocked by much any more. Still, if nothing else, it looked like these folks could use having a medic on board, and Clint knew enough to patch a person who'd been shot.

He read up on the Unification War that the two soldiers had gone through (Loki had, very thoughtfully, provided  _all_ pertinent details for if Clint decided to take up the offer), learned about Earth-That- _Was_ (and how it came to be called that more to the point) the Core planets and the Rim planets, the Alliance, the Independents, the economy, the (literally) universal language (and wasn't knowing Mandarin going to come in  _handy_ ?) the lot.

“What do you think of all this JARVIS?” Clint asked the AI when he'd finished reading. He didn't bother to ask if JARVIS had been reading the files over his shoulder. The thing was just too advanced _not_ to.

“I think it could be an excellent opportunity for you sir,” the digital tones answered with polite neutrality. “I am _also_ of the opinion that such a drastic change of location should not be undertaken lightly, and that there will be a lot of packing for you to do if you decide to go.”

Clint nodded in absent agreement. “Don't show this stuff to Tony,” he requested tiredly before he rubbed at the kinks in his neck and turned back to the arrowheads he had been working on before Loki had shown up.

~oOo~

Clint sighed at himself as he packed up everything he owned into a fair pile of manageable-sized crates. Clothes, weapons, tool box, first-aid kit and medic bag, personal grooming items, a few keepsakes, a Stark brand laptop that JARVIS had already installed himself  _and_ all of his files onto (without Clint's permission, but he wasn't going to complain either), as well as a few packets of seeds he'd bought and most of the contents of his kitchen.

The idea of living off highly processed protein didn't really appeal to him after all, even if it could be done. So, Clint had packed a  _lot_ of preserves and preserved foods in cans and jars and tins, some bags of frozen vegetables, vacuum-sealed smoked meats like ham, bacon, sausages of various flavours, some poultry and seafood for variety, and some vacuum-sealed  _marinated_ meat that was going to be delicious but for now was in with the frozen vegetables. He had sauces of all sorts, and his recipe books to make  _more_ sauces when those ran out.

He had jars of dried ingredients like flour, sugar, rice, pasta, cocoa powder, stock powder, salt, pepper, yeast, bicarb soda, dried herbs and spices, dried fruit, cereals, coffee –  _real_ coffee, as in, whole beans, carefully roasted, as well as grounds and that freeze-dried instant stuff.

He had chocolate too, a damn decent stash, since he didn't know if there would be a lot of it available in the times to come. He had sausages of cookie dough, he had a  _very_ carefully packed carton of eggs, and he had a couple of bags of fresh fruit – apples mostly, but a few stone fruit and berries as well. And he'd stacked, ever-so-carefully, his little kitchen garden that he had kept growing on the windowsill of his kitchen. It had fresh herbs and salad-greens mostly, but there were a couple of strawberry and tomato plants in there as well.

Yeah, he may not have intended to set himself up as a potential  _cook_ for the ship Loki was going to get him to so many years into the freaking  _future_ , but Clint liked to eat  _well_ , not eat  _slop_ – and that as one who had plenty of experience in eating  _both_ .

In consideration to the new economy he would be entering as well, Clint had gone out and purchased  _bars_ of the metal that got used as currency – platinum – and while he was at it, he'd bought some more metals (and other miscellaneous parts that were  _much_ more expensive) for his tinkering. And a lot of good feathers for fletching new arrows, just in case.

It all fit into a grand total of twenty-one crates and a carry-bag. It would have been a nice round twenty, but Tony had caught him packing, realised he was clearing out, and proceeded to grill him thoroughly. JARVIS had answered his maker's questions when Clint had been reluctant, though the AI didn't tell  _all_ , which was good of him. The extra crate was a going-away present from the billionaire. Clint's very own arc reactor, guaranteed to work for (at least) five years, and that if Clint had it powering an entire building the size of Stark Tower  _constantly_ – which was unlikely.

Banner had then been told, and the good doctor had carefully and thoughtfully upgraded and re-stocked Clint's medical supplies. He  _was_ a medical professional after all, not  _just_ a scientist. His licence to practice in America was only revoked because of General Ross throwing a fit about the matter.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” Clint said with a sigh as he pulled his quad-bike (with his luggage in a trailer behind) to a halt in Central Park, where not even a full six months previously the Avengers had farewelled Thor as he took Loki (and the Cube) back to Asgard. “Loki, I've made my decision.”

Not five full minutes passed before there was a glow of rainbow-coloured chaos and Loki stood before him.

Correction,  _knelt_ before him.

Loki had gotten down to one knee and bowed his head as soon as he had met Clint's eyes.

“Clint Barton,” he genuflected softly.

Clint sighed, all  _sorts_ of uncomfortable with having Loki kneeling before him. He wasn't  _that guy_ – the guy who wanted to see his enemies and persecutors grovelling at his feet. He'd shoot them, sure, and he'd be satisfied with causing them that bit of pain, but he didn't  _gloat_ or  _lord over_ or anything like that. On the other hand, he couldn't find it in himself to tell Loki to get up off the pavement either.

“I've decided to go,” Clint said.

Loki straightened, nodded solemnly, and looked to the quad-bike and its trailer. “You wish to take all of that with you as well?” he asked.

Clint nodded. “It's my stuff,” he stated.

Loki extended a hand towards it, and with a twist of his wrist... it was gone. “It would be battered if it travelled through the Bifrost. I shall return it all to you when we reach your destination,” he promised.

Clint slowly nodded in wary acceptance, and then the riot of chaotic colour was around them both and Clint was being transported away from all he knew. It was... not the smoothest of rides. When they landed again, it was fairly clear why. The Bifrost was still being rebuilt. It was serviceable, but not yet completely repaired.

Thor was there too, using his hammer as, well, a  _hammer_ , rather than as a weapon.

“He wants the Bifrost to be completed soon, so that when he brings Miss Foster to Asgard she shall travel more smoothly than we did,” Loki said softly. “You may greet him if you like, Heimdall and I must re-direct the outward path carefully before it is opened again, so that I may take you to a new point in time, not _only_ in space.”

Clint nodded in acceptance of that, trusting Heimdall at least even if he still didn't trust Loki all that much.

“Friend Barton!” Thor greeted with a smile when he looked up from his work to see Clint there.

“Hello Thor,” Clint returned with a smirk of his own. It was hard to be dour and distrustful when confronted with one of Thor's radiant, honest smiles.

“You have accepted the restitution offered to you by my brother then?” Thor asked genially.

“I have,” Clint agreed with a nod of his head.

“I am glad,” Thor said. “My brother spent many days and nights agonising over the best way to give some form of recompense over his wrong to you. I would have aided him if I could, but Loki insisted that there were wrongs he had done against you I did not know, and he would not tell me more than that.”

“I'd just as soon no one knew all of it...” Clint replied, a bit tense on the subject matter.

Thor nodded his understanding. “Loki is... not the easiest of people,” he said. “But I do know that he regrets whatever he did to you, that in his own way, he  _cares_ for you, Friend Barton. I do not know  _how_ I know, only that it is so.”

“You're wrong,” Clint said softly.

Thor looked at Clint in surprise.

“He _doesn't_ regret what he did to me,” Clint elaborated. “He told me so himself. He regrets the _way_ he did it, but not _what_ he did.”

Thor sighed sadly. “I am not asking you to forgive him,” he assured his friend. “I wish only to share a wisdom that was once shared with me.”

“I'm listening.”

“A man once said 'remember everything only as it gives you joy', but to remember only that which is good will leave us as fools and without the capability of true compassion. So it is better to say 'remember everything so that you may learn from it, and take joy where you can',” Thor expounded solemnly.

Clint breathed deeply, and thought that over. Thought of it as it pertained to  _his_ life. He hadn't had a very joyful life after all. Fulfilling, sometimes, and there had been  _moments_ where he was happy, or thought he was happy because he wasn't thinking about all the reasons that he  _shouldn't_ have been. It would all just twist him in knots if he thought about it too much though, and he knew  _that_ for certain.

Loki approached then. “It is ready,” he said.

Thor nodded and clasped Clint's shoulder companionably once – Clint nodded a silent farewell in answer – before he returned to his labour.

Clint followed behind Loki as the 'god' went ahead to where Heimdall waited to open the gate for them.

“I shall reopen the gate in no more than two minutes,” Heimdall stated firmly, “and you, Loki, _will_ return by it.”

“Yes Heimdall,” Loki promised in answer, voice sad and solemn.

“I wish you happiness, Clint Barton,” Heimdall said to him.

Clint nodded silently in gratitude.

Then Heimdall opened the Bifrost once more.

The second journey was even  _more_ uncomfortable than the first. All the same, Loki made sure they both landed on their feet when they touched down on Persephone, the Eavesdown Docks, and then with a gesture he summoned all of Clint's possessions, still stowed on the trailer of his quad-bike, and his quad-bike without so much as a scratch on the paint-job.

“I suppose you never want to see me again,” Loki said softly.

“You suppose right,” Clint answered. “But before you ask, yes, I've got the pendant thing you gave me anyway.”

Loki nodded. “Even if you only wish for me to fetch for you something from your own time, however inconsequential, I am your slave,” Loki reiterated solemnly. “The ship is that way,” he added with a gesture, indicating direction. “You will recognise it from the file I gave you, I am certain.”

Clint grunted in acknowledgement, checked all his belongings, and climbed onto his quad-bike – this time, he didn't care if he kept his eyes on Loki or not. There wasn't any way for the 'god' to cause him any more trouble at this point.

Loki was gone again before he'd finished turning the key to get it going again.

Clint drove slowly, taking in the sights of the world around him. The impoverished, third-world-country-like, dusty world around him, with its  _pieces_ of advancement scattered here and there around and among the blatant poverty. Even most of the ships looked as dirt-poor as the people who were barbecuing  _dog_ meat over half a rusty oil barrel. The people were colourful though, and didn't seem too down despite the ramshackle appearance of the place.

“You're coming with us,” a voice said happily as Clint brought his quad-bike to a halt in front of a ship that he'd seen only as a three-inch-high pencil sketch in the folder that Loki had given him.

“Yeah?” Clint asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leant on the handlebars of his quad and considered the young woman who was smiling at him from beneath her colourful paper parasol as she lounged on her folding canvas chair – it seemed that some things really did just survive _everything_ – her feet propped up on a metal cargo container for an ottoman, and (based in no small part on the fact that she was wearing a pair of cover-alls beneath that pretty Chinese jacket of hers) placed her as the ship's mechanic: K. L. Frye.

The young woman nodded resolutely, happy smile on her face. “I saw you driving up, looking at the ships rather than the destinations. Mine's the nicest,” she asserted.

Clint chuckled. “I'm inclined to agree,” he said. “It's the only ship I've seen that doesn't look like it will shake apart when it goes to break atmo.” Interesting bit of lingo he'd had to pick up from the files, but not hard to assimilate all the same. He  _was_ already spy used to learning such things from files after all. Or had been. Whatever. Damn being compromised, but he was here now, and he was going to make the most of it.

The young woman pushed herself out of her chair and bounced over to him, and extended a hand to shake. “I'm Kaylee,” she declared happily.

“You're a beautiful bundle of bouncing sunshine,” Clint corrected with a shake of his head and a chuckle as he accepted her hand. “I'm Clint,” he answered as he shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you Kaylee. Introduce me to your ship?” he asked as he released her dainty hand with the engine grease under her carefully filed nails.

“This here's _Serenity_ ,” Kaylee answered with an encompassing wave. “Firefly class, aught-three. She's the smoothest ride from here to Boros for those who can pay.” Kaylee then raised a hand to twiddle with one of the loose bits of hair that wasn't tied up in the two panda-ear buns on top of her head. “Can you? Pay?” she asked, suddenly nervous that he wouldn't be able to. “I mean, you _look_ like you can, but I don't wanna be assumin' nothin'.”  
Clint grinned, took the keys out of his quad bike, and gestured for Kaylee to follow him around to the back of the trailer he had on the back. “Gonna have to hide this behind your colourful sunshade if I don't want to get robbed I think,” Clint said as he lowered the back of the trailer and stuck a key into the lock on one of the crates.

Kaylee obligingly lowered her parasol so that it was a shield between what she was going to be shown and the  _rest_ of the Eavesdown Docks. She proceeded to goggle and gape at the sight of the  _bricks_ of platinum that she was being presented.

“Permission to come aboard?” Clint joked as he closed and locked the crate again.

“Granted,” Kaylee answered, eyes still wide as they moved from the closed crate to Clint's face.

Clint smiled back.

“So, uh, how come you don't care where you're goin'?” she asked when she'd regathered her wits, a smile working its way back onto her face like smiling was her natural state – something that Clint was fully prepared to believe of her.

“Because a pretty girl told me that I was flying with her,” Clint answered, “and that's good enough for me. I'm not looking for a 'where',” he explained, “so much as some people to belong with.”

Kaylee's face crumpled a little in confused sympathy. “You don't have anybody?” she asked.

Clint shrugged. “Folks died, ran away to the circus with my brother, then I ran away  _from_ the circus and my brother called me a traitor for wanting something better from my life. Found work where I could, then went military for a while, had a couple of people there watched my back and I watched theirs, but... Well, they're not around any more,” Clint said, leaving it with the implication that his friends had died in the Unification War, rather than he'd left them behind in the year 2012. “I tinkered for a while, but I need to move on. Thought I'd try doing that literally.”

Kaylee nodded in understanding, but then tilted her head to the side in confusion again. “I didn't think any of the Browncoats came out with as much cashy money as you've got...” she hedged, “and the Alliance soldiers all would have kept their jobs and still be soldierin'.”

Clint chuckled. “I'm  _very_ good at tinkering,” he offered. “And not every genius billionaire philanthropist lives...  _lived_ in the Core,” he added, thinking of Tony. “I had some well-off friends for a while.”

Tony may  _well_ have lived in the Core if he were alive today, could have possibly fought for the Alliance even. But he had been a  _generous_ friend, even if he wasn't a very  _present_ one, and Clint was pretty damn sure that Tony would have enjoyed going out to the Rim planets and building them arc reactors and better irrigation systems and all that sort of thing, especially since Banner had become his favourite science bro. Banner was  _all_ about helping people who couldn't always afford to help themselves. Third-world countries were where he'd gone, to do  _good_ to balance out the karma of the damage dealt by the Other Guy.

“If you say so,” Kaylee allowed, but the smile was back on her face, so that was enough for Clint.

Clint smiled, shook his head, and climbed back into the seat of his quad-bike. “Where do I park it?” he asked.

“Right this way, sir!” Kaylee chirped, and skipped into the cargo hold. “We've got another of our own, which we park right over here,” she said, standing in a space at the side of the hold. “Yours can go right _here_ ,” she finished, taking a large step and gesturing grandly to another empty space.

“Where is it? Your ship's quad, I mean,” Clint asked curiously while he parked.

“Getting the cargo of another of our passengers,” Kaylee answered. “He's apparently got this big thing but no way of his own to shift it.”

Clint scoffed. “Not even a hand cart? Bit  _Yu Bun Duh_ ,” he commented as he went back to his trailer and once more unlocked the crate that had the bars of metal in. “Now, how many do you want for my passage?”


	2. Chapter 2

When the missing members of the crew had all returned to the ship, as well as the other three passengers Kaylee had hustled aboard and a shuttle had docked, the pilot took them out of atmo and a general tour was given of the ship by its captain.

“Meals are taken here in the dining area,” the captain, Malcolm 'Mal' Reynolds said as he rested passively (to Clint's eyes, just a _little_ nervously) against one of the walls, hands behind his back to cushion his butt as he put his weight on it. “Kitchen is pretty self-explanatory. You're welcome to what there is at any time. What there is, is pretty standard fare, I'd guess: protein in all the colours of the rainbow. We do have sit-down meals, next one being at about eighteen-hundred.”

“I think Shepherd Book has offered to help me prepare something,” Kaylee said with a smile and a welcoming, hopeful gesture towards the old man who had skin like tanned leather and tightly bound salt-and-pepper hair on his head and resting under his nose.

“You're a Shepherd?” the captain asked.

“Thought the outfit gave it away,” the old man said with a smile, then seemed to catch on to the strange gravity hanging around the captain.

Clint recognised it as a man who had lost his faith in God when the war was over. There were, after all,  _very_ few atheists in foxholes. But when a man comes out on the losing side, especially when he's one of  _very_ few survivors, he tends to question the idea of there being a higher power who is watching over everything – and has a  _plan_ for it all at that.

“Is that a problem?” the grey-haired man asked.

“Of course not!” Kaylee insisted. “It's not a problem, 'cause it's... _not_.”

“No,” Mal agreed. “ _As I said_ , you're welcome to visit the dining area at any time, but apart from that I'm going to have to ask you to stay in the passenger dorm while we're in the air. The bridge, engine room, cargo bay, they're all off limits without an escort.”

“Some of my personal affects are in the cargo bay,” interjected the _very_ well groomed young man who, in the initial part of the tour, had introduced himself as Simon.

“I figure you've all got things you're going to need to get into,” Mal agreed absently. “Soon as we're done here, we'll be happy to fetch 'em with you.”

Clint noticed that Simon didn't look  _entirely_ happy about that, but the kid – wisely – kept his mouth shut.

“Now,” Mal said as he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall, and took a more prominent, powerful, don't-mess-with-me stance in the middle of the room. “I have to tell you all one other thing, and I apologise in advance for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, we've been ordered by the Alliance to drop some medical supplies off on Whitefall, the fourth moon on Athens. It's a little out of our way, but we should have you on Boros no more than a day off schedule.”

“What sort of medical supplies?” Simon asked, a vague look pinching his face.

The kid was a  _bad_ actor, Clint decided. Had probably been going for nonchalant, instead came off as constipated of the brain and sinuses.

“I honestly didn't ask,” Mal answered firmly.

The first mate, a woman with skin only a  _little_ closer in shade to Director Fury's than Shepherd Book's, called Zoe, stepped up. “Probably... plasma, insulin... Whatever they ain't got enough of on the border moons,” she supplied, and a fake smile pulled up her full lips as she crossed her arms defensively across her front.

Clint smelled a lie. A hastily crafted lie at that. And from the way Shepherd Book looked from Mal to Zoe, Clint guessed that the other man had spotted it too.

“You're being too generous,” Clint quipped before Mal opened his mouth. “It's _probably_ bandages and rubbing alcohol, with a few infant inoculations packed in there as well if they're lucky.”

“Granted,” Mal agreed dryly with a smirk and a nod towards Clint before he turned back to Simon with a much more fake smile for the _clearly_ Core boy. “Alliance says 'jump',” he explained apologetically.

“Alright,” Simon said as he nodded, that same vague, constipated-of-the-brain-and-sinuses look on his face.

“Zoe, you want to take them to the cargo bay?” Mal half-ordered.

“Yes Sir,” she answered with a smile and headed for the door.

Kaylee fell in behind her first, and the rest of the passengers followed after her, Clint bringing up the rear since neither the captain, nor the pilot – who had joined them half-way through Mal's speech – followed behind immediately. Though Mal joined on after a quick, quiet word with said pilot that Clint didn't catch.

It  _was_ a  _quiet_ word after all, and he  _was_ deaf in one ear.

Clint watched as his fellow passengers walked ahead of him, considered them all, and slowed his pace so that he walked beside the captain.

“Something I can help you with, Mr Barton?” Mal asked, all business like as he kept his eyes forward and watching where he as going.

“Dobson's a passable actor, but too quiet,” Clint offered softly, then lengthened his stride to catch up with the rest of the passengers again, leaving Mal mute and wondering behind him.

Down in the cargo bay, Clint pulled a little, two-wheeled trolley for shifting crates (which he'd used to load his trailer in the first place) out from where he'd lodged it and started shifting down a the crates that held everything any civilian would have as well as  _one_ of his crates of weapons, and his medical supplies. All things he would want in  _his bunk_ . The laptop with JARVIS on it was in his bag, which he'd already put in his assigned bunk during the initial tour of the ship.

He'd deal with the things for the kitchen – including his potted plants – later. Not too much later of course, the plants would need watering some time in the next forty-eight hours.

“You sure got a lot of stuff,” Zoe noted.

Clint smiled crookedly back at her. “My whole life and all my worldly possessions, piled high on the trailer of my quad-bike,” he answered.

Zoe blinked in surprise, and looked between Clint and the pile of crates, not one of which was more than a couple of feet in any direction, and some of them less than that.

“In that case, I'm surprised there isn't more,” she said.

“Would have been one crate less, actually,” Clint said, “but I got a going-away present from one of the guys I used to live with that needed a crate all of its own.”

“Ah! The Ambassador graces us with her presence,” Mal exclaimed from one of the walkways over the cargo bay, drawing attention.

Clint couldn't hear the rest of the quiet conversation from where he was – deaf in one ear and some distance away, not to mention he had his own shifting to do. It was going to be interesting getting his little trolley over the knee-catchers of all the portal doors between the cargo bay and the passenger dorms, not to mention down  _into_ the passenger dorms.

“You gonna be alright with all that?” Zoe asked, as she seemed to realise the same thing.

“Should be,” he said. “Nothing I've got here is going to come to any harm if it gets dropped.”

He was, for now, leaving his bow and quiver on the trailer along with the potted plants and the fresh eggs in their carton. Just the standard side-arm and a few clips of ammo to be his armaments for now, though the crate he'd grabbed also had all of his small blades, weapon's cleaning tools and ammo for more than  _just_ the standard SHIELD issue hand-gun that was in there. He  _wanted_ to take his bow and quiver to his bunk straight away, of course he did, but they were in one of the larger crates he had, carefully cushioned in a cradle of carved foam so that no harm would come to them. That would need the whole trolley for the crate, or else he'd unpack them and carry them openly through the ship.

That probably wouldn't be a good idea right now.

“Still seems a lot,” Zoe noted. “Want help?”

“I... Yes please?” Clint answered unsurely, surprised more than just a little. He wasn't really used to having help. Co-workers, partners on missions, but... never someone who would _help_. Hell, he'd even had to get the crate with the platinum in onto the trailer by himself, and that was the heaviest of them all. He'd used a small collection of car-jacks to get the crate onto the trailer on his own. Tony had given him an arc reactor as a going-away gift, but he hadn't helped Clint _load_ anything. The Iron Man suit would have been _very_ helpful for lifting heavy shit like that.

Zoe took the top crate from the trolley with a smile, compensated for the weight of it easily enough – it was the smallest of the crates and held the Banner-Approved Medical Kit – and followed him through the twists, turns, doors and stairs to his assigned bunk.

There, Zoe helped Clint get his crates of personal belongings into his bunk and then left him to his own devices.

The first thing Clint did was find an appropriate socket, to which he plugged in his Stark brand laptop, and started it up. It didn't take long.

“I take it that we have arrived then, Sir?” JARVIS asked from the small speakers of the thing, making him sound more digitised than ever. The laptop had a web-camera as part of it, so JARVIS would be able to 'see' what was going on in at least _part_ of Clint's bunk. Provided that Clint left the computer on and pointing at something other than the wall, of course.

“Yes, JARVIS, we've arrived. We are on board _Serenity_ ,” Clint answered, then with a tired sigh, he set himself to the task of unpacking a few of the crates that he had just loaded up with his belongings that morning.

“With your permission, I will integrate with the ship's computer,” JARVIS stated politely.

“Can I really _stop_ you?” Clint asked, raising an eyebrow at the computer. “Go ahead.”

“I've connected Sir,” JARVIS announced a moment later. “In addition, I have connected to the _cortex_ , an approximate equivalent of the internet we are familiar with. It does, however, appear to possess a broader scope, and a lesser degree of inaccuracy so far as whole literary works that are recorded there for historical value. I will not attempt to vouch for the actual history itself.”

“Anything interesting?” Clint asked absently as he finished piling his socks and underwear into one of the drawers. “Records of anybody I'd know?”

“I'm afraid I can find precious little about any of the Avengers Sir, save a few news clippings of weddings, births, and funerals,” JARVIS answered apologetically. “After the Battle there were no further threats that required such a response. There is, naturally, more on Stark Industries, if you would like to hear it?” the AI offered.

“Don't expect it's still running, but why not?” Clint suggested, not really hopeful.

“No Sir,” JARVIS agreed. “A short time after the passing of both Mr Stark and Miss Potts, the company went public and was summarily run into the ground by the board of directors.”

Clint sighed. “Guess that's what happens when the geniuses in charge aren't there to keep an eye on things any more,” he said as he stacked his shirts into another drawer. “Can happen to the best of them I suppose. How long did it last?”

“Ten years before total collapse,” JARVIS responded promptly.

Clint tsked and moved on to setting his trousers into a drawer. “Stark wouldn't be pleased about that,” he mused. “Pepper either, I expect.”

“Indeed, and since then, no one has been able to reproduce arc reactor technology, the blueprints are lost and largely forgotten,” JARVIS said, his digitised voice probably as sad as a digitised voice could be.

Clint winced. “Explains more than it doesn't. What happened to Apple?” he asked, changing the subject.

“There was a merger, and then a gradual take-over. The company lived about as long as Stark Industries, in total,” JARVIS replied.

“And now it's all this Blue Sun lot that was in the folder,” Clint finished, and (having also finished stowing his clothes) sat down heavily on his bed. “The Company, the Alliance, same thing. All of it's Blue Sun. Bit depressing if you think too hard about it.”

“I shall endeavour then, Sir, _not_ to,” JARVIS answered firmly. “I think it is more lamentable that the only new literature appears to be bulletins and advertisements. There are no authors or _true_ artists as there were once,” the AI lamented. “There is no creativity any more. Not even in the realms of science.”

“The greatest crime against the memory of Stark that there could ever be,” Clint quipped with a chuckle, but he sobered quickly. “People in the Core are too dull to come up with anything properly new and interesting, and the people on the Rim don't have time for luxuries like the arts,” Clint guessed, regarding the lack of arts in the universe.

“That is entirely possible,” JARVIS agreed.

Clint nodded absently – the computer camera was facing him, so JARVIS would have seen the action – and took his gun out of its crate, checked that it was properly clean with no chance of misfiring, and slammed a full clip in.

“Are you expecting trouble, Sir?” JARVIS asked.

“I always expect trouble,” Clint answered simply. “You should know that, JARVIS. Even in my apartment back in Stark Tower, I hardly ever went without a weapon being within reach.”

“Quite, Sir,” JARVIS answered blandly. “I believe that when Mr Stark learned of that habit, he stated that you were even more paranoid than he was.”

Clint chuckled at that, and moved out of JARVIS line of sight to strap his gun to his leg and pull a new pair of trousers up over it. There was a fake pocket carefully hidden by the real pocket at his left hip so that he could grab the piece without any trouble if he needed to, and no one had to see that he was carrying. He only had a couple of pairs of trousers with the fake pocket that let him access hidden weapons. They were a little draughty after all.

“Have fun with the cortex,” Clint said, “I'm heading up to the kitchen. The mechanic is making dinner.”

“Does the image of Miss Frye in the profile provided by Mr Odinson the younger do the young lady justice?” JARVIS asked as Clint headed for the door out of his bunk.

The man paused and thought about it for a moment. “No,” he decided. “It was just a line drawing after all. It gave no indication of how her skin glowed or her personality shone through her smile,” he answered at last, and then vanished out the door and headed for the kitchen and dining area.

Kaylee was there, as was Shepherd Book, making busy with the kitchen appliances.

“Anything I can do to help, or would that be too many cooks in the kitchen?” Clint asked.

“You cook, Clint?” Kaylee asked, surprised.

“I'm a slightly paranoid bachelor,” Clint answered with a smirk. “For a long time, if I didn't do my own cooking, I didn't eat.”

Book and Kaylee both laughed softly in amusement.

“Don't think there's really room for a third cook though,” Kaylee answered apologetically. “Don't see why you couldn't stay and talk to us though.”

Clint nodded and settled himself at the table.

“What do you do with yourself, Clint?” Shepherd Book asked as he sliced tomatoes.

“I'm in between right now,” Clint admitted. “It's a colourful history though. I've been a circus performer when I was young -”

“You mentioned that before,” Kaylee interrupted, an expression of bright curiosity on her face as she set aside her knife for a moment to give him her full attention. “Can you juggle?” she asked.

Clint chuckled. “Yes,” he answered. “I juggled, walked a tight-rope, did trapeze work, tumbled with the clowns, all that sort of thing and more.”

“Wow,” Kaylee admired. “I'd love to be able to do some of that.”

“I'll teach you a bit sometime if you like,” Clint offered. “Juggling in the street is a good way to earn a few coins when you really need 'em too. Haven't needed to for a while though, I'm glad to say.”

“Carrying as much as you were, I'd guess not,” Kaylee quipped. “But thanks, I'll take you up on that.”

Clint nodded and chuckled.

“I'm... missing something...” Shepherd Book said, looking between the two of them with confusion.

“I may have a few dozen _bricks_ of platinum in my cargo,” Clint admitted softly.

The old man's eyes went wide. “Ah,” he got out, softly. “Would it be impolite of me to ask how...?”

Clint shook his head. “I worked for some people who paid  _very_ well, but then the war happened and I was,” Clint coughed, “ _compromised_ because I fought for the, ah,  _wrong side_ . I came out the other end distinctly unemployed and as one of those guys who has everything, but no one to share it with.”

“An unfortunate state for many men,” Shepherd Book commented solemnly.

“So I'm trying to find some new people to belong with. The 'where' doesn't much matter to me. Then this beauty told me I was coming with her,” Clint said with a crooked, charming smile at Kaylee, “and who was I to refuse an invitation like that?”

Kaylee smiled bashfully and demurely returned her attention to slicing vegetables.

“Any other talents to your name?” Shepherd Book asked.

“I'm also a qualified medic, and I enjoy tinkering with things,” Clint answered.

“A medic?” Kaylee asked, looking up from her slicing again. “That's like a doctor, right?”

Clint chuckled dryly. “Kinda,” he said. “Difference is that a medic is someone who will shoot the enemy coming up over the hill to make sure he has time to patch his buddy, and medics do a  _patch_ , make sure a person lives long enough to see a  _real_ doctor. I'm a damn good medic, if I say so myself, even did surgery on the unit's  _real_ doctor when he got blasted. Man talked me through his whole complicated surgery and a few others since he couldn't operate himself with no feeling in his right arm at all. I just never had time for real medical school.”

Kaylee and Book both nodded in understanding.

Clint smirked. “And that was damn hard,” he added. “Because I'm mostly deaf in this ear,” he said, raising a hand to tap his left ear. “Between the gunfire and that, hearing instructions from the doc wasn't the easiest of things to do. Learned how to do a few complicated procedures though. Probably the most terrifying day of my life, having the lives of my squad in my hands as literally as that.”

“Wow,” Kaylee declared, impressed. Then she smiled slyly. “And were you still shooting the enemy with one hand while you were patching up your buddies with the other?” she asked.

“Never got more than an arms-reach from a fire-arm,” Clint confirmed with a nod, “and I did, sometimes, have to stop in the middle of a surgery to fire on the enemy.” Ah, his days in the army, before SHIELD had picked him up... and for that matter, his days as a SHIELD agent assigned with a regular army unit. Fun times.

~oOo~

“This is _incredible_ ,” Zoe said happily to Shepherd Book as she piled slices of grilled tomato onto a plate.

“It's not much,” Book deferred as Zoe continued up the length of the table. “I had a garden at the abbey. Thought I should bring what I could,” he answered happily.

“It's very kind of you to share with all of us,” Simon stated.

Clint only heard that much because he was sitting between Simon and Kaylee. He saw Zoe leave the dining area, and due to the lack of the pilot at the table and that she was headed for the bridge, he guessed she was taking the man his dinner.

“Oh, it won't last,” Book informed the boy, “and it's not the same when they're frozen. The important thing is the spices,” he declared. “A man can live on packaged food from here 'til judgement day if he's got enough rosemary.”

“Always been more partial to a blend of marjoram, sage and thyme myself,” Clint supplied, “and I don't think there's much that can beat the smell of cloves.”

“Mm,” Kaylee sighed. “I remember I _loved_ the smell of cloves when I was a kid,” she agreed. “It's impossible to find 'em these days though.”

“Captain, do you mind if I say grace?” Shepherd Book asked down the table when there was a lull.

“Only if you say it out loud,” Mal answered, between bites of his own meal.

A hush descended over the table, as first Book, and then the big man beside him (called Jayne, apparently, and Clint was fairly sure the guy was a... how had Coulson phrased it? “Soldier of Fortune type”), Kaylee had bowed her head next and then the other two passengers.

“I heard there was a Madam on board?” Clint asked when people started reaching for their cutlery again.

“Inara's a registered Companion,” Kaylee answered. “She rents one of the shuttles.”

“Someone should probably take the Ambassador a plate. She'd like this. Not often we have real food,” Mal added. “First one to finish eating can have the pleasure,” he offered.

Clint smirked mentally when he noticed Shepherd Book started to slow his eating.

“So does it happen a lot?” Simon asked, changing the subject. “The government commandeering your ship? Telling you where to go?”

“That's what governments are for, getting in a man's way,” Mal answered frankly, shortly, in a “none of your damn business” kind of way.

“Well it's good,” Dobson interjected, “if the supplies are needed.”

“We're just happy to be doin' good works,” Jayne answered the man, one cheek stuffed with food, but thankfully that food out of sight.

Zoe returned to the table, took her seat between the captain and the hired gun, and got to loading her own plate with food.

“On the other hand, it's _never_ good to have your ship high-jacked, least of all if the government _isn't_ sending the supplies that a place _really_ needs, _and_ is getting in the way of your own business,” Clint quipped.

“I hear a lot of the border moons are in bad shape,” Dobson said, his tone conversational and not particularly concerned. “Plagues and famine...”

“Well, some of it's exaggerated,” Zoe answered, “and some of it ain't. All those moons? Just like the central planets, they're as close to Earth-That-Was as we can make 'em: gravity, atmosphere and such, but...”

“Once they're terraformed,” Mal picked up, his tone grave, “they'll dump settlers on there with blankets, hatchets, maybe a herd. Some of them make it. Some of them.”

“Then I guess it's good we're helping,” Simon said.

“We?” Clint asked the kid. “ _You're_ helping? Rich kid touring the border moons and bringing... What?”

“Simon's a doctor, right?” Kaylee interjected calmly once she'd swallowed her own mouthful of food.

“Oh, yes... I was a trauma surgeon on Osiris in Capital City,” Simon answered.

“Long way from here,” Mal noted.

“Rich boy doing his charity tour before he settles in a well-paying hospital,” Clint said, not looking at Simon. “No one planning on settling down on a border moon and opening a practice there would be so obsessively _clean_ and _neat_. Not even a doctor.”

Kaylee smiled at Clint. “You know any practising doctors out that way?” she asked. “You said you were a medic...”

Clint chuckled. “I've known a few,” he admitted. “Mostly army doctors, but there was one... he'd gone from medicine to medical research, something went wrong and the guy who was funding the research had a fit. Didn't just pull the guy's funding but got his licence to practice revoked,” Clint explained, filtering Banner's story through words that were vague enough that people wouldn't catch him in a total lie later if he was ever called on it.

He didn't much want to tell people he'd  _been_ on Earth-That-Was just that morning. Probably wouldn't go over well.

“Didn't stop him of course,” Clint continued. “He just moved out to places where doctors were needed, and whether he had his licence or not didn't matter so long as he knew his trade. When I finally met the guy, he owned one shirt, one pair of trousers, his reading glasses, and a toothbrush. Didn't even have a first aid kit. He made do with what was available to him wherever he was.”

“That's certainly impressive,” Shepherd Book declared. “I don't think there are many who could do such a thing.”

“Wow,” Kaylee agreed.

“Man was a genius,” Clint agreed. “He'd scoff at a doctor wearing a silk tie and vest, unless he needed them to use as bandages.”

Simon swallowed – nervously, not just his food – at the speculative look Clint gave his vest and tie then.

“Like I told Kaylee earlier though,” Clint said as he returned to his food. “Everyone I know isn't around any more.”

Everyone was silent a moment, and then Kaylee got the conversation going again.

“You seem very _young_ to be a doctor,” she said to Simon.

“You seem very young to be a ship's mechanic,” he countered.

“No how. Engine's just got workin's an' they... _talk_ to me,” Kaylee answered with a shrug.

“It's a rare gift,” Shepherd Book told the girl.

“Not like bein' a _doctor_ ,” Kaylee deferred. “Fixing people – that's _important_.”

“But a kid with an interest in playing mechanic is going to be encouraged, given parts to mess about with. Kid interested in playing _surgeon_ won't be allowed near animals and will be _very_ carefully watched,” Clint joked.

Jayne laughed. A loud, barking laugh of approval.

“Well, I think I've had my fill,” Clint declared. “I'll make up a plate for the Madam.”

“Inara's shuttle is through that way,” Kaylee offered, pointing the direction once Clint had loaded a tray with a plate of food, eating irons, and a cup of water.

Clint nodded his thanks and left the others to continue their meal. It wasn't hard to find the door he was looking for, and after a polite knock he was called in.

He was surprised to see that she was giving herself a sponge-bath, half-dressed in the middle of the shuttle. Still, she'd invited him in despite her state of dress, so she clearly wasn't bothered about it and as such, Clint wouldn't let it bother  _him_ either.

“That's a very nice sari you're not entirely wearing,” he offered.

She looked up quickly. “Thank you,” she said, a smile tugging at her painted lips even as she rose and corrected the state of her undress so that her torso  _wasn't_ on display. “You're not who I was expecting.”

“If you were expecting Shepherd Book, then that was not nice. He's an old man and liable to not take that kind of surprise well,” Clint scolded lightly and in jest, the light tease made clear by the smirk on his face and the laughter dancing in his eyes. “I brought you dinner,” he said, and stepped into her rented shuttle properly, tray extended. “I'm Clint, by the way. We haven't formally met.”

“Inara,” she answered. “Thank you for this,” she added as she accepted the meal from him.

“It's real food in a place where I'm told standard fare is protein in every colour of the rainbow,” Clint answered. “If Mohammed will not come to the mountain, then the mountain must come to him. In this case, the mountain being a mountain of food. Bon apatite,” he said, and with a bow of his head, he left her to her meal.

“JARVIS?” Clint called when he was back in his bunk.

“Welcome back Sir,” the computer greeted. “I trust your repast was not insufficient?”

“I'm not the only one brought _real_ food on board,” Clint confirmed. “We had slices of lightly barbecued tomato, among other things.”

“Very good Sir.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Unauthorised out-going transmission detected,” JARVIS announced the next morning as Clint finished re-dressing, again his gun strapped to his leg underneath a pair of strategically ventilated trousers. “Pilot is scrambling, but some of the message got through.”

“How much?” Clint asked.

“Fugitive discovered on board, requesting prisoner transfer,” JARVIS replied. “Specifics and particulars were caught in the scramble. The nearest Alliance vessel only knows the co-ordinates of the transmission origin, not even _Serenity_ 's name or ship-class is known by them.”

“Good,” Clint decided. “Can you follow that transmission, or the cortex, and scramble the rest of it?” he asked.

“I can _try_ Sir,” JARVIS answered.

“Give it a shot. I'd say things are about to get interesting,” Clint said, and hurried out of his bunk again. Even deaf in one ear, he still heard the shouting coming from the cargo bay, and hurried there.

He was a step behind Jayne when the shot went off.

Clint reacted. He pulled his own gun as he assessed the situation, shot the only other man who was holding a gun (once in the right arm. It made him drop the gun, put him in a whole lot of pain, but it wouldn't be fatal unless he bled out, and a quick bandage would see to that), then stowed his own gun again quickly and hurried to Kaylee's side.

He wasn't the only one. He just got there fastest because he was closest. Jayne had strode forward purposefully, clearly intent on finishing what Clint had started on the man who'd shot the pretty mechanic. Clint didn't bother to pull away clothing to look at the wound. He just hefted the girl up in his arms and turned to Inara – who had nearly screamed the girl's name and come running down a whole lot of stairs and the only one not immediately distracted by an announcement from the pilot that they were being hailed by an Alliance cruiser for a prisoner transfer.

“Which way is the infirmary?” he asked her.

“Follow me,” Inara instructed, and turned on her heel to lead Clint through the ship.

“You're quite a medic,” Kaylee commented to Clint as he carried her through the ship. “Got to see you in action and everythin'. Shot the guy that shot me, and now you're carryin' me to safety,” she said with a smile.

“What do you need?” Inara asked when they reached the infirmary and Clint was setting Kaylee down on the central bed.

“Tweezers and a magnifying glass for now, needle and thread later, and alcohol swabs to make sure things don't get infected,” Clint answered quickly. “And a whole lot of light.”

The tweezers and magnifying glass were found, Kaylee's clothes were pulled out of the way, and Clint pulled on a pair of latex gloves (some things really just _did_ _not die out_ ). Then he got to work digging out the shot.

“No anaesthetic?” Inara asked, shocked.

“Never worked with it before,” Clint answered shortly, focused on his task. “Wouldn't know the measurements for shit. I knock her out, she might never wake up.”

“What about those surgeries you did with your doctor friend walking you through them?” Kaylee asked weakly from above him.

“We had a bottle of ether and some cloth,” Clint answered, pulled out a bit of the bullet (damn thing had broken!) and returned to find the rest of it. Focused. “Those that weren't already unconscious on their own from the pain, we dripped ether onto the cloth and had them breathe deeply.”

Mal and Simon arrived just as Clint dug out the last bit of broken up bullet.

“Just in time,” Clint said. “The real doctor has arrived for the fiddly bit. What the _hell_ was the hold up?” he demanded.

“Turning the ship around in exchange for his help,” Mal answered shortly. “Thank you for what you've done so far.”

“I take the Declaration of Geneva seriously,” Clint replied in a dangerously even tone. “Even if I'm not a real doctor.”

“Did an alright job so far,” Kaylee commented weakly from the bed.

Simon's eyes went wide with shock at the idea that Kaylee was still  _awake_ , and proceeded to measure out drugs to put her under. He then proceeded to do a  _very_ tidy job of cleaning and closing.

“I can't do any more 'til she stabilises,” Simon declared as he removed his latex gloves and apron.

“Will she?” Mal demanded softly.

“I can't say yet,” Simon admitted.

“I've seen men recover from worse wounds that didn't get treated as quickly _or_ as well,” Clint offered.

“Thank you Clint,” Inara said softly, laying a genuinely grateful hand on Clint's arm. “Kaylee is very dear to all of us.”

Clint nodded. “She's the prettiest bundle of sunshine I've ever seen,” he told her. “Doesn't take long to wiggle her way into your heart.” He turned to Mal and Simon. “Which begs the question: why would a  _doctor_ be more concerned about the ship  _changing course_ than a  _life_ ?”

“I want to know what's going on here,” Inara added firmly.

“Well then why don't we find out?” Mal suggested, and marched out of the infirmary.

“What are y-” Simon started as he turned, only to stumble as he tried to run after Mal while his feet were still pointing the other way. “No!”

“Stay with Kaylee,” Clint ordered Inara absently, and chased after both of them.  
“No! Stay away from there!” Simon was yelling.

Clint saw Jayne catch and wrap his arms around Simon's neck and shoulder.

“Where's the Fed?” Mal asked Jayne, even as he kept walking.

“Shepherd's with him. Seems to think he's not safe alone with me,” Jayne answered as he frog-marched Simon forward. “Thanks for shootin' 'im by the way,” he added to Clint. “Didn't even know you was armed.”

“First day around new people I'm always paranoid,” Clint answered as he watched Mal bend to drag out Simon's big crate and unlock it.

“No,” Simon choked out as Mal stood up again.

“Well, let's see what a man like you would kill for,” Mal said to Simon.

“No don't!” Simon begged as Mal kicked off the top of the crate.

Cold wafted visibly out, and they all stared a moment.

“Huh,” Mal managed to articulate.

Clint whipped off his shirt and got closer to the crate with the  _naked girl_ curled up in a foetal position in it, surrounded by white insulating padding.

Simon moved forward as well, but Jayne re-affirmed his grip on the young doctor.

“I need to check her vitals,” he insisted.

“Oh, is that what they call it?” Mal asked as he stood between the crate and Simon, even as Clint walked around him and gently pulled the girl upright and slipped his shirt over her head.

“She's not supposed to wake up for another week,” Simon insisted. “The shock -”

“The shock of what?” Mal cut in. “Waking up? Finding out that she's been sold to some outer-world baron? Or, I'm sorry,” he continued, his tone changing from anger to mockery, “was this one for you? Is it true love? Because you do seem a little -”

“Ah!” the girl screamed, shrilly, as she woke up.

“Shh,” Clint said softly. He wrapped his arms gently but firmly around the girl he'd managed to get his shirt onto, cradled her against his chest, and lifted her out of the crate much the same way he'd lifted Kaylee from the floor and carried her to the infirmary. “Calm down. You're alright now.”

The girl's breathing was rapid as she twitched and stared around, clearly without any idea of where she was, even as she let Clint hold her.

Simon got himself free from Jayne then, and approached tentatively.

“River?” he called, a quaver in his voice as he reached to her. “It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I'm here.”

The girl – River, clearly – looked down from the ceiling and studied his face. “Simon,” she whispered in recognition. “Simon, they – they talk to me! They want me to – they want me to -!”

“They're gone now!” Simon insisted. “They're gone now. We're safe. We're safe. I'm here,” he promised, and wrapped his arms around her even though she was still in Clint's lap and being held by him.

“What the hell is this?” Mal demanded.

“This is my sister,” Simon answered.

“Do you _usually_ transport your sister in an ice box?” Clint growled, deeply unimpressed. He made sure his grip around the girl was firm, and then stood up, wrenching her from Simon's tentative and not-at-all solid embrace.

“We'll have the full story in the dining area as soon as she's been settled somewhere,” Mal decided, taking hold of Simon so that he couldn't follow.

Clint nodded and carried the girl to his bunk in the passenger dorms. There was nothing physically wrong with her that he could see. She was still a bit jumpy, which he didn't blame her for at all.

“Sir,” JARVIS greeted.

The girl, River, twitched, and her eyes darted frantically about the room searching for the source.

“Shh,” Clint soothed. “That's JARVIS. He's an artificial intelligence,” he explained, with a gesture towards the computer. “JARVIS, this is River.”

“A pleasure to meet you Miss,” JARVIS said politely.

River nodded, unsure but willing to accept, at the computer.

“JARVIS, we'll be getting an explanation up in the dining area. Will you be able to listen in?” Clint asked.

“Certainly Sir,” the AI answered. “The _Serenity_ lacks the visual capabilities that were available to me in Stark Tower, but there are communication lines through the whole ship.”

“Good.”

As soon as he had a pair of trousers on the girl and a new shirt on his own self, he cradled her against him again and carried her back up to the dining area. Clint and River were the last to arrive, not counting the Fed who was tied up and Kaylee who was unconscious. Clint settled into a chair and River onto his lap, and waited with everyone else for Simon to start explaining what the  _hell_ was going on.

“I am very smart,” Simon started. “I went to the best MedAcad in Osiris, was in the top three percent of my class, finished my internship in eight months. 'Gifted', is the term. So when I tell you that my little sister makes me look like an idiot child, I want you to understand my full meaning. River was _more_ than gifted. She... she was a gift. Everything she did: music, math, theoretical physics, even _dance_. There was nothing that didn't come as naturally to her as breathing does to us. And she could be a real brat about it too,” Simon said fondly, a smile of reminiscence softening his face.

He might have started on fond childhood anecdotes, but Jayne shifted to refill his coffee cup, a simple movement but one that snapped Simon back to the present all the same.

“There was, uh, a school. A, uh, a government-sponsored academy,” Simon continued in a more business-like tone. “We had never even heard of it, but it had the most exciting programme. The most challenging. We could have sent her anywhere, we had the money, but she wanted to go. She wanted to learn.”

Clint gently stroked River's hair as she started to shake in his lap.

“She was fourteen,” Simon stated solemnly.

River was  _clearly_ older than that now.

“I got a few letters at first, and then I didn't hear for months. Finally I got a letter that made _no_ sense. She, she talked about things that never happened, jokes that... that we never... It was a code,” Simon declared. “It just said: they're hurting us. Get me out.”

“How'd you do it?” Zoe asked.

“Money,” Simon answered, “and – and luck. For two years I couldn't get near her, then I was contacted by some men. Some underground movement. They... they said that she _was_ in danger. That the government was... _playing with her brain_. That if I funded them, they could sneak her out in cryo, get her to Persephone, and from there I could take her... wherever.”

“Will she be alright?” Inara asked, looking over at River as she sat there, listening to all of this, from Clint's lap, all wrapped up in the man's clothes.

“I don't know if she'll be alright, I don't know what they _did_ to her,” Simon answered, “or why. I... I just have to keep her safe.”

“That's... quite a story, son,” Shepherd Book said lowly.

“Yeah, a stirring tale of woe,” Mal agreed. “But in the meantime, you've heaped a world of trouble on me and mine.”

“I never thought -” Simon started.

“No, I don't imagine you thought,” Mal cut in sharply. “In consequence of which, we got a kidnapped and _injured_ federal officer on board, the Alliance hot on our tail and Kaylee -” he cut himself off there.

“I'm not going to apologise for shooting him in the _arm_ ,” Clint stated. “I _could_ have shot him in the head. I don't miss my mark. I _am_ sorry if that causes you any difficulties,” he added sincerely.

“Appreciate that,” Mal said. “And you got Kaylee to the infirmary real quick, which works in your favour for that much.”

“How much does the Alliance know?” Zoe asked softly.

“I don't know,” Wash answered. “I killed the message pretty quick, so they _could_ just have our position.”

“ _Or_ they could have personal profiles on each and every one of us,” Mal countered.

“They don't,” Clint spoke up, drawing everybody's attention.

“How the gorram hell do you know that f'r sure?” Jayne demanded.

“JARVIS,” Clint said.

“What's that?” Inara asked.

“Stands for Just A Really Very Intelligent System,” Clint answered. “He's an AI, an artificial intelligence. He noticed the outgoing as well, _and_ that it got jumped on. The Alliance only knows that they got a request for prisoner transfer from that location. They don't know _what_ prisoner, they don't know the ship, don't know anything,” Clint explained.

“One piece of good news today,” Mal said gravely. “Would probably still be worth it to question the Fed when he wakes up though.”

“So, what do we do?” Jayne asked.

“The job,” Mal answered. “We finish the job. I got word from Patience, she's waiting for us. We circle 'round to Whitefall, make the deal, get out, keep flying.”

“What about us?” Simon asked softly.

“As a fugitive, you keep moving,” Clint answered, standing up from his seat and lifting River with him. “You stay still, and you get identified. You get identified, and you get caught. That simple. I want to hear what the Fed has to say about River,” he announced as he walked past Mal. “And I want to know the _name_ of that academy,” he added in a dangerous whisper to Simon. “Jayne? I believe there's a man you wanted to cause some pain to?” Clint invited over his shoulder as he reached the door.

“Yeah,” Jayne agreed, hauling himself out of his seat. “Owe the man for what he did to little Kaylee.”

~oOo~

Clint listened from outside the door as Jayne interrogated Dobson, River in his lap from when the door closed with just Jayne and the Fed in the room alone, and when the door opened and Jayne stepped out again. It was educational, though far from completely satisfying. Jayne said it himself  _in_ the interrogation:

“Disappointing as hell.”

“Nicely handled,” Clint offered as he stood, still cradling River.

“Thanks,” Jayne answered as they started walking down the corridor. “You be putting her down any time soon?” he asked.

Clint shrugged. “She hasn't actually let go of me since I got to put a shirt on again,” he admitted.

“This is the captain,” Mal's voice said over the ship-wide comm system. “We're passing another ship. Looks to be Reavers.”

“Hell,” Jayne swore quietly, and ran for his bunk.

“Hey, what are Reavers?” Clint yelled after him. They hadn't been covered in the folder that Loki had given him.

“Not human, and more than willin' ta rape us, eat us, an' turn our skin inta their clothes. If we're _lucky_ they'll kill us before they do all that,” Jayne answered over his shoulder.

“From the size, probably a raiding party. Could be they're headed somewhere particular. Could be they already hit someone and they're full up. So. Everyone, stay calm. If we run, they'll have to chase us. It's they're way. We're holding course. Should be passing them in a minute. So, we'll see what they do. Zoe, you come on up to the bridge,” Mal finished, and clicked off.

“They never lie down,” River whispered into Clint's shirt.

“Shh,” he comforted her. “We can _make_ them lie down,” he promised.

A tense few minutes later they were clear of the Reavers, and not much more after that they'd landed on Whitefall.  _While_ they were landed, Clint got to shifting his other crates into his assigned passenger bunk and the kitchen area as appropriate for each crate. River stayed in his bunk while Clint was bringing his crates there, and then Clint moved her to the dining area when he started moving the foodstuffs he'd brought into the kitchen area.

“Why...” Simon asked when he found them there.

“Why what?” Clint asked and he considered the last crate for the kitchen – the one that held his potted plants. He was actually a little tempted to keep them safely cushioned in the crate, just leave the lid off so they'd get the light, air, and regular watering that they needed.

“Why... are you so attached to my little sister?” Simon eventually asked.

Clint halted all action for a breath, and then settled the lid over the plants once more and secured the crate in a corner of the room before he turned to face the rich little Core boy.

“Do you know what it's like to have someone take your brain and play?” Clint asked seriously.

“No,” Simon answered.

“Do you know what it's like to have someone pull you out, and stuff something else in?” Clint continued, stalking slowly across the kitchen towards the young doctor.

“No,” he repeated.

“Do you know what it's like to be _unmade_?” Clint pressed dangerously, right up in Simon's face by that point.

“No,” Simon said again, leaning back as far as he could where Clint had trapped him against a bench.

“Then count that as three things _I_ have in common with your sister that _you don't_ ,” Clint growled out, and turned his back on the boy to return to River's side.

Except that River was gone. She was a way down the stairs from the dining area, being dragged away with a gun pointed at her head, by the Fed.

Simon ran after the man, took a wrong turn and didn't catch up until the Fed was opening the cargo bay door. He jumped down, tackled the guy away from River – guns were dropped and heads were hit hard against the floor.

Clint had pulled his own gun and marched down the  _right_ set of stairs, he assessed the situation and aimed as he stepped through the door. Dobson was on his hands and knees, just a few inches from grabbing a gun. Simon had gotten hold of Dobson's other gun and was pointing it at the law man who had threatened his little sister.

“Reavers,” Wash announced abruptly over the ship-wide comms. “Reavers. Incoming and headed straight for us. We are in the air in one minute.”

“You gonna do that?” Dobson asked, focused on Simon, and unaware of Clint appearing at the other end of the cargo bay. “You're going to kill a law man in cold blood?”

Clint applied appropriate pressure to the trigger, and a neat little hole appeared in the back of Dobson's skull.

“Put that down carefully,” Clint ordered the doctor with a significant look at the gun the Core boy was holding – and holding _wrong_ at that. Or right. A person who had no idea about guns _should_ keep their digits away from the trigger after all. “Don't want it to accidentally go off. Drag him out and dump him. I'm sure that one more dead body on Whitefall won't make a difference at this point,” he added as he re-holstered his gun and moved to comfort River.

Simon hurried to obey. He set the gun on the floor and grabbed Dobson by the ankles. It was clearly  _difficult_ for the kid to haul the dead weight of a man all of thirty feet. He managed, though Mal and the others who'd gone out were  _back_ by the time he'd gotten Dobson to the end of the ramp.

“Shh,” Clint said as he comforted River, wrapped her up in his arms again.

“Protected me,” River said, and traced a hand over Clint's face.

“Not completely out of danger yet,” Clint reminded her. “Reavers coming after all.”

“They never lie down,” River whispered.

“Can _make_ them lie down,” Clint reminded her, and led her back to the kitchen area.

Simon followed close behind, and picked up Shepherd Book – the man had been hit on the head and was a bit woozy where he stood. The party of four stopped outside the infirmary so that Simon could take a look at the Shepherd's injury, and were there to see Jayne rush in for Kaylee, Inara not far behind him.

“Need you in the engine room, lil' Kaylee,” Jayne informed the girl as he picked her up.

“And you all are to come with me,” Inara said, facing the group of passengers.

“I'll be more use helping Kaylee in the engine room,” Clint countered. He _had_ studied the schematics of the firefly in the folder that Loki had given him.

River clutched his shirt and looked up at him desperately a moment.

“Still keeping you safe,” Clint assured her and gently pried her fingers out of his shirt. “Just sometimes need to do it from a distance.”

River nodded, and let Simon wrap an arm around her shoulders and guide her off behind Inara while Clint dashed after Jayne and Kaylee toward the engine room.

Jayne had set Kaylee down carefully in a spot where she could see pretty much all of the engine room and give directions, since she still wasn't really up to running around the place and doing all the work herself.

“Kaylee, how we going?” Wash asked over the comms. “We're going to need a little push here.”

“You want me to go for full burn?” she asked from where she was rested against a wall.

“Not just yet, but set it up,” Wash answered.

Clint moved, unerringly, towards the press regulator without even having to wait for Kaylee's instructions.

“Head of the class,” she said with a smile, which was followed by a cough. She handed out directions to Clint and Jayne on how she wanted everything set up to be ready for the full burn, and then let Wash know it was ready on his mark.

“Kaylee!” Wash called back a few seconds later. “How would you feel about pulling a Crazy Ivan?”

“Always wanted to try one!” Kaylee answered with as much cheer as she could muster.

“They are _great_ fun,” Clint added with a smirk. “Which side?”

“Port jack control,” she said.

“Where the hell is it?” Jayne asked.

“Over here,” Clint answered as he pulled it up.

“Now, it's real simple,” Kaylee started.

Jayne gave the girl an incredulous look over all the wires that were in that box.

“Kaylee!” Wash pressed.

Clint gave a thumbs up as he pushed the controls back into place.

“Okay,” Kaylee answered.

“Everybody hold onto something!” Wash ordered. The ship did a perfect one-eighty, turned smooth as could be and on a dime at that. They rushed past the Reaver ship, and then “Now!” came Wash's yell a few seconds after that.

Clint and Jayne pulled the levers and such, and  _Serenity_ went to full burn. Jayne cheered, even without the news being announced. Seemed he'd gotten quite the thrill from all that.

“We're good people. We're out of the woods,” Mal announced happily a short while later.

Jayne kept cheering in the engine room.

“That's my good girl,” Kaylee praised softly, stroking the wall at her side.

“Well,” Clint said as he sat down next to Kaylee's knees. “That was fun,” he decided.

Kaylee beamed at him.

“Alright, you beautiful bundle of sunshine,” Clint declared as he stood up again. “Time to take you back to the infirmary,” he said firmly, and scooped her up in his arms with intention of doing just that.

Kaylee nodded and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck to help support her weight. “You're a real gentleman, you know that?” Kaylee asked him as he carried her through the ship.

“I'm not,” Clint countered. “I fake it pretty well though.”

Kaylee smiled again. “Naw, you fake that you're  _not_ a gentleman,” she insisted.

Clint chuckled. “Well, who am I to disagree with a pretty lady?” he asked, and settled her back down on the infirmary bed.

Kaylee dozed off pretty quickly after Clint arranged a blanket over her and fluffed her pillow, then he went to check on his plants in the kitchen. He wanted to make sure none of them were the worse off for the Crazy Ivan.

“So who was it?” Mal asked from behind him.

Clint turned.

The captain was standing in the door between the dining area and the bridge, a serious expression on his face. “Who was it killed the Fed?” he clarified. “Saw the doctor dragging him out, but I don't think the kid's really got it in him to shoot someone.”

“No, it was me,” Clint admitted easily. “I shot an unarmed man in the back of the head when he didn't even know I was there. Is that a problem?” he asked.

“Only if you plan on repeating the action on me an' my crew,” Mal answered.

Clint shook his head and tucked the lid of the crate under his arm. “Let me show you something, Captain,” he said, and waved for Mal to follow him down to the cargo bay.

There, he unlocked the crate that had the bricks of platinum that he'd already shown to Kaylee to prove that he  _could_ pay for his ride on the ship.

“It's all pure, and I'm prepared to let just about all of that get split however you usually split pay between your crew and the running of _Serenity_ ,” Clint offered.

“ _Shun Sheng Duh Gao Wahn_ ,” Mal breathed, in awe of the sight of the bounty laid out before him. “What's the catch?” he asked. “You don't strike me as the _Yee Yan_ type.”

“I don't suppose there'd be an opening anywhere to join your crew?” Clint countered.

“Can't offer more than a ten percent cut,” Mal answered. “That's most any of us get and everythin' else goes to keepin' us in the air.”

“That's shiny,” Clint agreed, and held out a hand to shake. “Guess I'm going to have to move everything from the passenger dorm into a crew bunk though,” he suggested with a smirk.

Mal smirked right back at him. “You will, yes,” he answered as he took Clint's hand and shook it firmly. “You never did give your full name,” he pointed out, still holding Clint's hand.

“Clinton Francis Barton,” Clint answered. “People I used to fight along side with called me 'Hawkeye'. I never miss a shot,” he said, mentally discounting the _one_ arrow that Loki had caught. It had still put the 'god' out of the air, as it had been intended, after all. “Never.”

“You'll likely get to prove that claim,” Mal informed him. “So how much of this here treasure are you keeping for your own savings?”

“Just four bars,” Clint answered. “I'll melt 'em down to make trade with as I've need. The rest is yours to divvy up.”

Mal swallowed tightly as he released Clint's hand and looked back at the crate of extremely valuable metal bricks. “Where the hell did you  _get_ all this anyway?” Mal asked.

“Well, before everything went to shit, I had a _very_ well paying job and a co-worker who's hobby was making even more money on speculation. _After_ everything went to shit, I lost my job and contact with that friend. I had my bank roll, but I'd been ' _compromised_ ', I'd fought for the ' _wrong side_ ', and therefore I couldn't be trusted,” Clint explained, _again_. “So this is me, moving on with my life, looking for new people to belong with.”

“Which was the 'wrong side'?” Mal asked carefully.

Clint looked Mal in the eye. “The side that  _lost_ ,” he answered solemnly. He meant Loki's side, but he was the only one that knew that. Mal would take it to mean that Clint had been a Browncoat in the Unification War. Like he had been.

“What was your rank?” Mal asked.

“Sergeant first class,” Clint answered. It was true enough. When he was in the American army, he'd held that rank. He didn't think that telling Mal he'd been an agent for a covert government security agency would go down all that well. “Got moved around a lot though, never stuck with one unit for long, didn't know the names of most of the places I got shipped to.”

Mal nodded in acceptance of that. “Well,” he said. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you Captain,” Clint replied, and closed up the crate again. “Maybe just leave it there for now?” he suggested. “It was a bastard to get onto the trailer in the first place.”

Mal nodded. “Sure,” he agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

Barton's contribution to the savings were in  _no_ danger of depleting, even with Kaylee having gone out to buy a new compression coil at the very first opportunity she got. Still, better to keep working, keep up business connections, and not need to rely on those savings too heavily. JARVIS was helpful for this, actually. The cortex and the universe had become the AI's playground, and as much as the prim and proper character of him intrinsically disapproved of crime, he was still able to find the sort of crime that wouldn't upset the moral code too much.

Things like finding wrecks that still had something on them could be salvaged. Not that they had a lot of buyers right now, and they were all more than a bit out of  _Serenity's_ way at the moment, so the wrecks were just kept note of rather than immediately visited and looted.

The Tam siblings had been allowed to stay on  _Serenity_ . In this way, they kept on the move as per Clint's advice, and Simon 'paid' for his and River's passage by taking up the post of ship's doctor. River hung around Clint more than pretty much everyone else though, her brother included. She even slept in the passenger bunk that Clint had used for all of  _one_ sleep-cycle. Then again, Clint had stopped Simon from administering random injections to River in the hopes of 'fixing' whatever had been done to her. He snatched the drugs from Simon every single time the boy had come after his sister with a loaded injection. Clint didn't hesitate to turn the needle around and jab the doctor with it. Not once. There was a betting pool going on when the boy would figure out to  _stop_ attempting to attack River with needles.

He may not have been a doctor himself, but Clint knew a bad idea when he heard one. Girl had been pumped full of who knows what. Her system needed time to flush it all out. Also, not being a doctor, Clint didn't automatically believe that everybody had  _something_ medically wrong with them that required the sort of professional intervention that included being jabbed with a needle and injected with a questionable substance. 

At the moment, four of them (Mal, Zoe, Jayne, and Clint) were in a bar, drinking lightly and playing a four-way game of Chinese Checkers. About half-way through the game, Mal pocketed a piece of paper he hadn't had moments before. It was part of keeping up the business contacts. Yes, JARVIS could have found them another job, they'd already successfully pulled four of JARVIS' jobs since the AI had started playing with the cortex, but there was a certain amount of  _polite_ to doing things the old fashioned way. They'd get JARVIS to get them the full details  _of_ the job they'd just been offered of course. Mal had discovered he liked knowing those sorts of things. It cut down on unpleasant surprises.

The benefits of having the AI on board  _Serenity_ had seen the crew adjusting to his presence pretty quickly.

Then some piss-drunk  _idiot_ started yelling from up by the bar.

“A toast! A toast! Quiet! Shut up!” the drunk demanded.

The music cut off.

“I, I got words,” the man said.

Clint looked the man up and down quickly. Washed out blue and green-ish-blue clothes, completely shaved head, and (of course) a drink in his hand. He was  _not_ impressed.

“This is an _ass_ -pish-ush day,” the bald drunk continued. “We _all_ know what day it is!”

Clint stood up.

“Where you goin'?” Jayne demanded quietly, and turned to Zoe when Clint didn't answer. “What day is it?”

“A _proud_ day,” the man continued.

“To be a drunk asshole?” Clint demanded, as he absently grabbed the man's shirt, pulled him down, and then slammed his skull into the edge of the bar. Not so hard it bled, but the guy would have a _nasty_ lump there for a few weeks. “Turn the music the _fuck_ back on,” he snapped at the man behind the bar. “I didn't come here to listen to ugly bald drunks make slurred speeches.”

It seemed, however, that every other man in the bar was a friend of the ugly baldy, or at least didn't like that Clint had cut the guy off in the middle of his speech, since a whole lot of them stood up all confrontational like.

“You think you could do better?” one of the men asked. “We must have a speech to toast on Unification Day,” he pointed out.

Clint turned and regarded the man coldly. Natasha Romanoff in winter sort of cold. “You want a toast?” he asked. “Alright then,” he allowed, and went back to the table where Mal, Zoe and Jayne were sitting so that he could lift his drink. “To the Unification War,” he said with a snarl. “May such a grand-scale loss of life never happen again.”

That seemed to cool a lot of people down.

“There was a time when wars past were remembered with _solemnity_ ,” Clint continued, a sneer painted across his face, as he stepped out from the table to stalk around the room, looking each person in the eye as he spoke. “Not _celebration_. A time when, after the wars were over, _both sides_ stood together to mourn all that had died, fighting for what they believed in. Right or wrong, victory or defeat, any side that says it _won_ its war does a disservice to all the people who _lost_ their _lives_ as they fought for that victory. So I propose _this_ toast,” he declared as he halted in the middle of the bar. “To all those who will never drink again, my next drink, I drink for you.”

“Here here,” was murmured around the room, cups were raised in agreement around the room, toasting the fallen as Clint had called for, and cups were emptied.

“That was...” Zoe started, when Clint rejoined them at their table.

“Beautiful,” Jayne finished. “I didn't fight no war, but that were a real touchin' sentiment.”

“Thank you,” Mal said softly.

Clint noticed that every cup at the table was empty, when they hadn't been before, and nodded silently.

“Clint...” Zoe said, trying to find words a second time. “Where did... all that come from? You held the attention of everybody in the bar. I think even the serving girls found a drink to take a sip from when you made that toast.”

“Well, I was in the circus when I was a kid,” Clint offered with a humourless smirk. “I know how to handle being the centre of attention. If you want,” he added, turning to Mal, “I'll hold the punch-bag for you to beat on later.”

Mal's face gave a thoughtful twitch, a quick pursing of the lips before they returned to their previous place. “Thanks,” he said, “but I think I'll be able to go a U-day without beating something up. At least just this one time. We've made the contact, let's get back to  _Serenity_ .”

“You're the captain,” Jayne agreed.

On the way out, Clint was stopped by one of the patrons. “Thank you for your words,” the big brown man said. “They were  _Jing Tian Dwohn Di_ , and will not be fast forgotten in this place.”

Clint nodded. “You're welcome,” he said softly. “But my captain is waiting for me.”

“ _Yi Lu Shwen Fohn_ ,” the man bid him with a solemn nod.

“ _Joo How Rin_ ,” Clint answered, then lengthened his stride to catch up with the others.

Mal pulled a, to Clint's thinking, rather  _fat_ walkie-talkie of a thing out of his pocket to let Wash know to let the ramp down and them in.

Jayne broke off to head to his own bunk, and River attached herself to Clint's shadow as soon as he was inside the ship enough to cast one – which meant Simon wanted to try more drugs on her again in an attempt to fix whatever had been done to her at that academy she'd attended. Clint  _still_ hadn't gotten the name of the place, annoyingly enough.

“Hello all,” Mal greeted as he led the way onto the bridge.

“Hi,” Wash answered, his tone coloured with mild surprise even as he greeted his wife with a tender kiss to her hand.

“And how are our passengers?” the captain continued, turning to Kaylee who was underneath the co-pilot's terminal.

“They're fine,” she answered with a smile as she rolled out and sat up so she could speak to them all properly. “River's glad Clint is back, obviously, but she's no more harmed 'an the rest of us,” she added with a nod towards the man in question.

Clint gently pulled River into his side, being the protector she clearly needed at that moment.

“So, what happened?” Kaylee asked eagerly, her usual bright smile on her face. “Was there a terrible brawl?”

“Oddly enough,” Zoe answered, “there _wasn't_.”

“You managed to stay out of trouble on _U-day_?” Wash asked, shocked. “How did you manage _that_?”

“Blame the good Mr Barton,” Mal answered with a wry smile and a gesture to Clint. “It was all his doing.”

Clint bowed with minor theatrics to his captain. “Want or need a hand under there, Miss Sunshine?” he asked Kaylee.

“No, I'm nearly done,” she answered with a smile. “Just have to put the panels back in place now,” she explained.

Clint nodded in acceptance, and stood with River, just waiting for Kaylee to be done.

“Have I mentioned how _grateful_ I am that you provided the funds for that new compression coil?” Kaylee asked as she rolled back under to finish her job of the moment. “Or all those yummy things you brought on board with you? I don't think I've _ever_ eaten _real_ meat before!”

Clint smiled. His 'donation' to the kitchen stores had been 'discovered' not long after Mal had agreed to take Clint on as crew. Kaylee had gone to start preparing the sit-down meal for eighteen-hundred and screamed when she found what was stowed in the pantry and the ice box. It had been amusing to Clint that, simply because no one else really knew all the ways a person could cook the things he'd brought – not even Shepherd Book – he had automatically been recruited for kitchen duty.

Clint had extended a blanket welcome to watch from the other side of the counter and learn how, and it was mostly Kaylee and River who  _did_ watch him cook, but Book and Inara both came by occasionally as well, and Jayne had stopped to watch – and taste – as Clint made a gravy to go with the roast one night.

On the other hand, Clint kept his chocolate stash carefully hidden in his bunk. He was generous with the provisions he'd brought along, but not  _that_ generous. And if the average, wimpy woman could become as dangerous as a wild tiger when guarding  _her_ chocolate stash, then even more so the master assassin.

“JARVIS,” Mal called into a speaker. “What can you tell us about this job we're being offered by Niska?”

“If you will give me a moment to slip into his closed system,” JARVIS began.

Obligingly, they all  _did_ wait, without a peep even.

“He's an unpleasant sort, Captain Reynolds,” JARVIS supplied a few seconds later. “The job is medical supplies en route to a town that needs them rather desperately. For once, the Alliance is sending the _exact_ medical supplies that are needed.”

“What can you tell us about Niska?” Clint asked. He had, after all, never heard of the guy.

“He currently has his wife's nephew hanging from chains, upside-down and bleeding, in the room next to his office,” JARVIS answered distastefully. “Doing business with this man is _not_ something I can recommend in good conscience.”

“I don't mind stealing from the Alliance,” Mal stated, “save that it can be more than a mite risky to a person's health. I _do_ take issue with stealing from people as mightn't live another week if I perform that bit of thievery. JARVIS, does Niska have any _other_ work we could do without compromising that?”

“Adelai Niska deals in murder, extortion, robbery and drugs,” JARVIS answered blandly, “with robbery being his general method for acquiring the drugs. Usually drugs that are sorely needed by people on border moons and the Rim, thereby increasing their value on the black market.”

“Sounds like a man that would improve the lives of everybody around him by being dead,” Clint suggested.

“Indeed Sir,” JARVIS agreed.

“Done!” Kaylee announced happily and rolled out from under the co-pilot's station.

Clint extended a hand to help her up, and got a peck on the cheek for his troubles.

“Don't see how we can get paid any time soon, we don't take this job,” Mal said, clearly _very_ unhappy about it. “Take us longer to get paid we turn it down and try to find somethin' else.”

“Could always rob _him_ ,” Clint suggested lowly. “Miss Sunshine, Miss Genius, would you care to join me in the kitchen and share and apple or two?” he offered, elbows extended for them to take.

River didn't hesitate to take hold of Clint's right arm, and Kaylee giggled before she did the same on Clint's left.

“Actually, that's not a bad idea,” Mal said as the trio left the bridge.  
“An apple, sir?” Zoe asked.

“Robbing the man,” Mal answered. “JARVIS...”

Then Clint and the girls were too far to hear any more.

“It's like you breathed new life into _Serenity_ ,” Kaylee complimented Clint as they settled down in the kitchen. “Bringin' your fancy computerised _Puhn Yoh_ an' yer big ol' crate of cashy money.”

“Still has one crate not opened,” River said softly. “Parting gift.”

Clint hummed as he grabbed a knife and a couple of apples from where they were being kept, as well as three plates to put the apple pieces on when he'd carved the fruit up, before he sat down with them.

“Ooh, a 'parting gift'?” Kaylee asked, a smile on her face as she settled her weight forwards, happily inquisitive. “Sounds romantic.”

Clint snorted. “I'm pretty damn sure Tony wasn't interested in me that way,” he answered. “Very much a lady's man before he figured out who his ' _the one_ ' was.”

Kaylee bit her lip and ducked her head, torn between embarrassment and laughter at her mistake.

Clint considered the two girls as he sliced and peeled the apples he'd selected. River was a recognised genius – made her 'top three percent', 'gifted' doctor older brother look like a drooling idiot child, by the guy's own admission. Could do anything she put her mind to. Kaylee was a genius too, more specialised though. Machines and engines and electronics. Not astrophysics or medicine or the arts. If he pulled up Tony's blueprints for the arc reactor – and JARVIS had them – then these two girls would likely be the only ones since Tony had  _died_ to be able to build such a thing from scratch. Well, Kaylee could. Not sure if River would quite get how to handle the machinery used in casting components. Certainly the girl could build it once she had all the parts ready made though.

“Taking a break?” Inara's voice called softly as the Companion entered the kitchen.

“Hawkeye is slicing apple for us,” River answered.

“Hawkeye?” Inara repeated, curiosity in her tone as she looked from Kaylee and River to Clint.

“It's a nickname,” Clint answered.

“Stage name,” River corrected. “Then code name after.”

“That too,” Clint allowed with a sigh as he kept slicing the fruit. “You want some of this?” he offered.

“I'd love some, thank you,” Inara answered, and took a seat beside Kaylee. “If some more of your story comes with it,” she added with a smile. “Why 'Hawkeye'?” she asked.

“There's this old story,” Clint started. “I forget who it's by, but it was called _The Last of the Mohicans_. There's a character in it called Hawkeye. Man never missed what he shot at. Neither do I. That, and possibly my preference to being high up, is how I got the name.”

“The Hawk? Up in his nest as usual,” River said in a gruff tone that didn't match her expression: her eyes were unfocused as she looked _through_ the only man at the table.

Clint chuckled. “Yeah, that got said about me a fair bit when my superiors were looking for me,” he admitted, and started to share out the peeled slices of apple.

“Ladies, Clint,” Mal greeted as he came down from the bridge and joined them.

“What's the buzz?” Clint asked.

“We're going to dock at the skyplex, let Niska know in person we won't be takin' the job,” Mal answered.

“ _Won't_ be taking a job?” Inara asked, equal parts curious and incredulous.

“Won't,” Mal confirmed. “But while we're docked I want you three to make yourselves scarce,” he continued, locking eyes with Kaylee and River before he fixed on Inara again.

“Ashamed to be associating with a whore?” Inara asked archly.

“That's not it,” Mal answered. “Niska is a man with a particularly _un_ lovely reputation. I'd feel better if he didn't even know you all existed. Keeps you safer.”

“Mal, if you're going to be a gentleman, I may just die of shock,” Inara teased, surprised by the sentiment but never at a loss for words when confronted with the captain.

Mal sketched a bow to Inara before he turned to Barton. “Clint, you'll be comin' with Zoe, Jayne an' me when we go talk to Niska.”

Clint gave a tight little salute from where he was seated. “What's our ETA?” he asked.

“Wash puts it at no more than an hour,” Mal answered.

Clint nodded in acceptance. He'd finish feeding fruit to the females and then get geared up and ready to go. Guess this  _wasn't_ the day he'd be showing Kaylee and River that arc reactor.

Mal returned the silent nod and went to explain the particulars to Jayne.

“So, what will you three, shiniest of the shiny in all the Black, get up to while the rest of us are off talking crime with a _Hwen Dan_?” Clint asked with a smile.

“We could go in for a little bit of pampering,” Inara suggested. “Girl talk, painting our nails, brushing each other's hair...”

Kaylee hummed with delight at the idea. “Sounds nice,” she agreed. “What do you think, River?” she asked the youngest girl, wanting to make sure she was feeling properly included.

“The stroke of a brush and new paint will not change the damage done, only conceal for a short time,” River answered as she considered a slice of apple between her right finger and thumb.

Kaylee and Inara both looked at the girl a little helplessly, and turned to Clint for assistance and guidance. For reasons essentially unknown to pretty much everybody on the ship (Simon included, even though Clint had given him a  _very_ quick explanation), Clint was the one who handled River best.

“Miss Genius,” Clint called gently, taking the slice of apple from River's hand and pressing it lightly to her lips.

River opened her mouth and accepted the offering, bit down and chewed when half the slice was in, her eyes fixed on Clint's.

“It's not about hiding what was done,” Clint said. “It's about feeling good about yourself _regardless_ of all that. Took your brain to play, pulled you out, stuffed something else in. You got _unmade_. Genius girl, this is the part where _you make yourself again_. However you want. Sunshine and Irises here are gonna help you. _D_ _ohn-luh-mah_?”

“ _Shi_ ,” River agreed with a nod of her head. “ _Sheh Sheh_ ,” she added with a small smile.

“Sunshine and Irises?” Inara asked.

“I'm Sunshine,” Kaylee supplied happily, a grin trying to push past her cheeks to her ears.

Clint smirked dashingly at her. “On account of that sunny smile,” he said, then turned to Inara. “If you don't like me calling you Irises...” he offered.

“No, no, it's... it's very pretty,” Inara hastened to say. “I'm just... confused.”

“Have you ever seen iris flowers?” Clint asked the woman. “They're pretty things, and can come in all sorts of colours too.”

Inara nodded in acceptance.  
“Irises may be planted by rivers to purify the water, and roots can be used for dye, grey to black colouring depending on how many roots are used,” River supplied neutrally.

Inara nodded again, taking that information in. Then she smiled. “Does  _Zoe_ have a nickname too? Since you've given one to all of us...” she suggested.

“SIC's are harder,” Clint admitted. “Besides which, I don't think anyone but her mister could get away with calling her a nickname to her face. Now, if you lovely ladies will all excuse me, I'm going to check my weapons and make ready for intimidating bad men.”

“Worse than the bad men on this ship?” Inara quipped.

“Much,” Clint agreed firmly. “You'll _all_ be safer if you don't get spotted while we're docked.”

“We'll stay hid,” Kaylee promised.

~oOo~

In his bunk, Clint had his tinkering bits out and was following a blueprint that JARVIS had brought up on the screen of his computer. It was a bug. It would, essentially, give JARVIS a proper gateway into Niska's complex. The AI wouldn't have to weave his way through firewalls once the bug was in place. In fact, he'd be able to establish himself in the skyplex and have access to... most of the rest of the universe from it, with a better, more solid signal than could be provided by  _Serenity_ .

“Pilot Washburne is docking,” JARVIS informed Clint.

“Good timing,” Clint answered. He straightened his spine, put the soldering iron in its cradle and turned it off, and set the only-just-finished bug down beside the computer for a moment to double-check his weapons. “I make it right?” he asked.

“Yes Sir,” JARVIS answered. “I will be able to take complete control of the skyplex with this installed anywhere near a centrally used computer.”

“Or whatever it is they use these days,” Clint quipped. “So much of it's paper thin these days, it's hard to know what's really permanent.”

“Agreed,” JARVIS answered. “Though the hand-held cortex access taken from Mr Dobson's luggage was certainly useful.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, and swiped up the bug again. “Infiltration time,” he decided, cracked his neck once to the right and left, and climbed out of his bunk.

The four who were going aboard the skyplex were greeted at the airlock by a thick-set and blatantly (but not heavily) armed grunt in a no doubt standardised blue-and-black uniform. Without a word, the guy led them through boring, plain white walls.

“No imagination,” Clint commented as he followed along, making a mental map of the rout they were being toddled along by their silent guide. “Always the walls are white on some scale of sterile or they're painted a grey that's the same colour as the metal underneath, just using paint to slow the rusting process.”

The skyplex wasn't nearly as confusing as some of America's old naval vessels could be, where in order to get from the bow on the second floor to the stern of the same you had to go via the third, the fifth, and the first  _in that order_ . And of course, SHIELD bases (both the ones on land and the ones, like the Hellicarrier, that weren't) were an order of magnitude more labyrinthine.

“And what colour would _you_ have painted it?” Jayne asked, a little sarcastic and a little tetchy. He was suffering from the effect the environment was designed to create: he was mildly intimidated, and clearly not as good as Clint at making a mental map while on the move.

Clint thought about that. Jayne's question, not his attitude. “Not sure,” he admitted. “Maybe I'd go for colour-coding the place, work my way through the rainbow as I worked up from the first floor to the top. Confuse the  _hell_ out of visitors, they arrive and see how painfully cheerful the place looks.”

“Especially with what rumour says goes on inside of it,” Mal quipped lowly.

“You're not _questioning_ my _sources_ , are you Captain?” Clint asked wryly, all cheek and false offence. He knew Mal wasn't doubting JARVIS, but they didn't want Niska to know more than they were planning on telling him themselves.

“Course not,” Mal answered easily.

They eventually reached a door – and by eventually, that meant that Clint had settled within his mind on a tune to whistle irreverently. He wasn't a SHIELD agent any more, and this visit wasn't one that needed him to be silent. He liked to whistle now and then. Clint cut off whistling the hornpipe when the grunt turned the 'doorknob' and pulled the door aside – which in turn presented them with a big blonde man with some interesting tattoos (the most obvious of which took up a good portion of his face) and who didn't appear to properly comprehend the meaning or purpose of shirts as their wearing applied to him. The guy had probably had his nose no more than an inch from his side of the door before it opened, and his gaze was _very_ steady.

Clint couldn't help but be reminded of Thor, even though this guy didn't have as much hair (Thor had a more flowing mane _and_ more beard) and Thor didn't have any tattoos... that Clint was aware of anyway. And frankly, if the guy _did_ have any tattoos then Clint didn't want to know about them anyway. Actually, Thor probably couldn't stay that _still_ either, unless he absolutely _had_ to, and there was that Thor preferred a massive _hammer_ to a massive _hook_ like _this_ guy was holding in a vaguely threatening way. Okay, so less in common between the two than initial impressions might have served to cause.

Clint dismissed it as unimportant. After all, it _was_ unimportant.

“Is fine, Crow, they can come in,” a voice with, to Clint's ear, a slightly Russian accent called, all cultured like.

The big blonde, Crow apparently, stepped back from the door and into the office of his employer.

Mal followed, then passed him when Crow just stood aside by the door, and the rest of them followed Mal. Clint brought up the rear.

“And Malcolm Reynolds is which?” asked the well-dressed, elderly gentleman from where he reclined in his very expensive looking chair, behind his very expensive looking desk, which had an equally expensive looking lamp sitting on top of it.

Clint wasn't really interested in the frivolities of such things, but he _had_ been a spy, once upon a time. He wasn't as good a spy as Natasha had been, but she had the advantage of being a beautiful woman. That ugly lamp looked like something that Tiffany's would have made. He was pretty sure Pepper'd had one in her office, actually.

“I'm Captain Reynolds,” Mal answered easily, coming to a stop a professional sort of distance from Niska's desk. “This is my first mate Zoe,” he said, turning slightly to indicate the woman who had taken her place on his left. “This is Jayne,” he added, with a jerk of his thumb to indicate the gun-hand on his right.

“Very nice,” Niska said. “And the man in back? Why not introduce him?”

“Hawkeye,” Clint answered for himself. For all that he had the bug that needed to be planted near Niska's central server, he'd taken the rear-most position behind Mal, just slightly to the right so that he could see clearly between the captain and Jayne.

Mal turned to look at Clint a moment before returning his attention to the old man. “He's a new hire. Introducing him to potential clients isn't something I'm doing automatic yet,” he explained.

The old man nodded in acceptance. “I am Adelai Niska,” he said, finally introducing himself and confirming all of their suspicions. “You have seen Crow. He likes to stand at the door and say 'boo!'” the old man said with a chuckle, all joviality. He was the very _picture_ of a good-natured elderly gentleman in his double-breasted suit and gold-rimmed glasses. Possibly even the sort of good-natured elderly gentleman that had grandchildren he liked to give boiled lollies to.

“We got word you might have a job for us,” Mal stated, blunt but polite enough considering their current situation. This was a business meeting after all. Sort of. “So we're here to discuss that possibility.”

“Yes!” Niska agreed happily, and pushed himself out of his very comfortable looking chair. It might have even been _real_ leather it was upholstered with, all black and smooth, but Clint wouldn't bet money on that when he was only seeing it from a distance of several feet. “Yes, an _exciting_ job!” the man continued as he circled around his desk. “A _train_ ,” he declared. “Has, er, something I need. You have worked a train before?” he asked.

“We may have hit one or two in our history,” Mal answered neutrally.

“Are you going to ask me what it is I need?” Niska pressed.

“As a rule: no,” Mal replied, calm and not as discomforted as he might have been had he not already gotten all the details from JARVIS before they'd docked. To say nothing of having every intention of turning the man down. There was a plan and everything. One that should let them walk out of Niska's skyplex again without getting shot at, even.

“Yes. Good,” Niska said happily as he eased his weight back onto the edge of his desk. “You have reputation. 'Malcolm Reynolds gets it done' is the talk.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear that,” Mal said, genuinely pleased to _have_ such a reputation, even if it _had_ drawn the attention of such an unpleasant person as Niska.

“You know what is reputation?” Niska asked conversationally. “Is people talking, is _gossip_. I also have reputation. Not so pleasant, I think you know,” he said, and turned from Mal to his shirtless doorman. “Crow,” he called, an order being given with just the man's name.

Clearly the man had been employed for some time, as he followed it immediately. A door beside Niska's desk was jerked open fully and forcefully by the big man – revealing a man strung, upside-down by iron shackles around his ankles, bleeding slightly.

“Now, for you, my reputation is not from gossip,” Niska informed them, a sort of dark glee overtaking his feature. “You see this man? He does not do the job. I show you what I do with him, and now my reputation with you is fact,” he declared happily as he shut the door once more. “Is _solid_. You do the train job for me, then _you_ are solid,” he said, getting right up in Mal's face, a smile still on his own wrinkled visage. “No more gossip.”

“Right,” Mal answered lowly, shocked at the sight of the body even though he had been more or less forewarned. Knowing that sort of thing was going on was one thing. Seeing it was altogether another. “Except,” he continued, a little more firmly. “We actually did a bit of research on the job. For all that I forget Hawkeye in the introductions, he's become mighty useful real quick. Hawkeye?” he called over his shoulder, waving the man up and taking a step back for himself, surrendering the central position of negotiator.

Niska frowned.

“May I use your system?” Clint asked politely.

Still frowning, Niska nodded slowly and gestured for Clint to approach his desk and use the display that was there. It was, conveniently enough, displaying the train that Niska wanted them to rob.

Clint trailed the fingers of one hand over it while his other hand – holding the bug – apparently supported his weight while he bent over the table.

“See, the captain doesn't mind stealing Alliance goods. None of us mind doin' that,” Clint said with a smile. “We're happy to, even. _But_ ,” he added, and brought the focus to the carriage that would be between the passengers and the cargo that Niska wanted. “Not when he has to walk through a squad of Alliance Feds, who happen to be looking for _his ship_ , just to reach it.”

“I get the job done,” Mal stated firmly as Clint backed away from Niska's desk.

The bug was left behind, though nobody saw.

“But that's because I don't go in blind to all the factors around it,” Mal continued. “This bein' our first try at doin' business together, I thought it would be polite to tell you in person _why_ I wouldn't be acceptin' it, even with the exceedin' attractive pay bein' offered.”

Niska breathed in deeply and clearly _unhappily_.

“Very well,” the old man decided. “It seems we do _not_ do business. Is unfortunate.”

“For us as well,” Mal agreed. “The chances of us getting pinched on this one are just too high though. No one wants to risk that.”

Niska nodded, and they were summarily dismissed from his office. The thick-set, blatantly armed grunt stepped into view once more and escorted them back through the skyplex to where _Serenity_ was docked.

“Let's go, Wash,” Mal called into the comms once they were aboard and the airlock was closed again behind them.

“Aye-aye Captain,” Wash's voice came back cheerfully.

“JARVIS?” Mal called.

“I have the pass codes to all of Niska's accounts,” the AI answered. “I'll start skimming off the top and laundering the funds to end in _Serenity's_ account.”

Mal grinned. “I could get to like this kind of crime,” he informed Zoe conversationally. “No one got shot at even once.”

“I could have done without the image of that man hanging up by his feet, Sir,” Zoe answered.

“Long as it ain't us gets corpsified,” Jayne quipped firmly.

“Welcome back,” Shepherd Book greeted them from the stairs. “Shall I let the ladies in the shuttle know you've returned?”

“Think they might have noticed, what with us having taken off an' all,” Mal answered. “You can rejoice, Shepherd. We did _good_ works today. Us turning down the train job Niska wanted done leaves it too close for him to get someone else to pull the job, so Paradiso will get the meds they need, and on top of that we're draining the unpleasant man's funds,” the captain said with a charming smile, pleased with his day's work.

“The morality is somewhat convoluted,” Book stated, but said nothing more as he shook his head and returned to the dining area.

“Well,” Clint said as he stretched his arms over his head. “I think I'll see if the ladies in the shuttle will let me join them. Maybe get my hair brushed.”

“Think they'll do mine?” Mal asked.

Zoe smirked at them both, amused. “Might be nice actually,” she admitted softly. “Don't have much occasion to be all feminine.”

“Even the career military woman shouldn't miss out on the female bonding,” Barton commented lightly as he started to move for the stairs. “What about you, Jayne?”

“Like hell I'm gettin' all sissified,” the man answered gruffly. “We didn't even get a good dust-up from this job. I'm gonna set the bag up,” he said, and proceeded to stomp off to his bunk for his punching bag.

“Inara'd probably kick me out of her shuttle anyway,” Mal said with a shrug, and headed off for his own bunk.

“That's true,” Zoe quipped.

Clint chuckled and happily thumped his way up the stairs. When he reached the door to Inara's shuttle, he knocked – it wouldn't do to _surprise_ the ladies inside if they were in any sort of undressed state after all, even if Inara had surprised _him_ with her undressed state the last time he'd knocked on her door.

“ _Ching Jin_!” three happy feminine voices called out.

Clint opened the door, and he had to smile at the sight.

“Clint!” they cheered in welcome.

“And Zoe!” Kaylee added when she spotted the first mate over Clint's shoulder. “You're gonna join us?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” she admitted with an amused smile.

“Have fun while we were gone?” Clint asked as he settled down beside River.

Her hair was tied up in a braid that had been arranged like a crown on her head, all Maid Marion style. Her lips had been painted the same incredible red as Inara's, and more make up had been used to disguise how  _very_ pale she was.

“ _Yes_ ,” River answered firmly, the smile on her face almost as bright as Kaylee's. “She is not as _unmade_ as she was before, and the Sunshine and the Irises have been kind.”

“Not a hard thing to do,” Kaylee asserted happily.

“We all just have to remember that River is a genius, and the rest of us aren't,” Inara commented wryly as she lifted a brush to Zoe's hair.

“The girl included,” River added, a little embarrassed and clearly talking about herself.

“Woman,” Clint corrected. “You're how old now?”

“Seventeen, almost eighteen,” River answered.

Clint nodded. “Then you're a young woman, not a girl,” he said. “And should be treated like one,” he added, a little more speculatively, before he smirked. “Which means flirting.”

Every woman stopped and stared at him, stunned into silence.

“The doc will have a fit!” Kaylee objected, eyes wide.

“Of course he will,” Clint answered with a careless shrug. “He's her big brother. That's what they _do_ when people start flirting with their little sisters. Granted, I'm a bit old to be Miss Genius's _boyfriend_ , but last I knew, young women of seventeen dated and had boyfriends, and were free to flirt with older men as well.”

“So should young women of a bit more than that,” Kaylee added pointedly.

Clint's smirk reasserted itself, and he moved fast as a snake to take hold of one of Kaylee's ankles.

“Hey!” she yelped as he tugged her towards him.

Footwear had been discarded for painting toenails, so Clint didn't have anything in the way to stop him from digging his thumbs into the sole of Kaylee's left foot.

Her eyes rolled up into her skull in pleasure as she moaned happily. “ _Ni How Shwai. Ta Ma De_ _Wo_ _. Tian Xia Suo You De Ren Dou Gai Si._ _Wo De Tian A_ ,” she exclaimed in whispered rapture as Clint massaged the appendage he had taken hostage.

River giggled as she watched, but Zoe and Inara looked between Kaylee and Clint with raised eyebrows.

“That good, huh?” Zoe asked when the litany of Mandarin ended.

“ _Jing Tian Dwohn Di_ ,” Kaylee answered happily.

“ _Shi Yan_ ,” Clint cheekily informed the woman he was torturing with pleasure.

“Where did you learn to give foot massages that -” Inara started.

Kaylee interrupted. “That make my nethers happy without need of a  _Zhan Dou De Yi Kuai Rou_ or somethin' that runs on batteries?” she finished, eyes shining as she looked down her body to the man who still held her foot.

“ _Yao Nu_ ,” Zoe accused Kaylee fondly.

River continued to giggle happily. She was the youngest there, and felt...  _safe_ for the first time since she'd been singled out in the Academy. These women, and Clint, didn't treat her as if having suffered through someone taking her brain and play made her  _less_ , or made her  _unstable_ , or made her  _sick_ . It was nice, and she could only take joy in it.

She hadn't been...  _well_ ... the first night out of the cryo box. She hadn't gone to Simon though. She'd known he'd give her more drugs to make her sleep. She'd gone to Clint, Agent Barton,  _Hawkeye_ – the man who'd literally given her the shirt off his own back and held her when everything was confusing and frightening. He'd held her again, rubbed soothing circles on her back and kept her hair out of the way as her body rejected, and  _ejected_ , the foreign substances into his toilette. When she was done, the Hawk had given her a glass of water, carried her back to bed, tucked her in, and vanished for a little while – only to reappear later with a thin but  _warm_ and  _comforting_ soup.

Chicken noodle, he'd said it was. To soothe her stomach. It had worked too.

“You'll have nightmares,” he'd said. “But they're _just_ nightmares now. You wake up from them and they stop hurting quite as much.”

And she'd accepted it from  _him_ , because  _Clint_ had nightmares too. He'd spoken from  _experience_ , as one who knew better than anyone else on the ship what she was feeling – and also honestly knew that she was the  _only_ one who  _really_ knew what she was feeling, and was willing to support her through it all.

And here he was now, giving Kaylee a foot-rub and telling them about the beautiful but deadly red-head co-worker he'd learned how to give  _proper_ foot-rubs from – because if he'd gotten it wrong she'd have compressed his wind-pipe with those feet he was supposed to be giving pleasure to.

On a good day.

On a bad day if he'd gotten it wrong she'd have  _crushed_ it and he'd have to be rushed to the infirmary for surgery.

“What was her name?” Inara asked.

“Natasha,” Clint answered. “Her name was Natasha.”


	5. Chapter 5

The crew were playing a version of basketball – all except for Clint who had declared his assignment to either team would be an  _extremely_ unfair advantage.

“Hawkeye never misses,” River had affirmed. “ _Never_.”

Shepherd Book had taken his spot for playing.

So Clint was sitting up on one of the walkways beside River, fiddling about with a kit he'd used on assignments with Natasha once when they needed new faces – and which he had kept stocked ever since. There were a collection of basic noses, which were the main central feature of a face, as well as some re-usable modelling stuff for altering brows and cheekbones. Jaws were harder to alter, so most times he didn't bother trying, though there were a couple of chins in there too. There was also a collection of different coloured contact lenses, some hair dyes of different shades ( _natural_ shades, better for making believable disguises), one set of false teeth, some false beards, moustaches, and shaggy eyebrows – real looking ones, not the gag kind – and a whole pile of stage-quality grease-paint.

The stuff he had in that little box, he could have made Jayne look like a middle-aged black man if he'd wanted to. If there had been any wigs in there, he could have made Zoe look like an old white man while he was at it.

But he was a bit busy making River look like... well, not her. Clint had already given her a slightly larger nose and more pronounced cheekbones. She was massaging a foam through her hair that would lighten the colour to match Clint's more than Simon's on her own while Clint used some of the grease-paint to darken the girl's skin slightly, give her more of an olive-golden tan, and he added a couple of wrinkles around her eyes to make her look a bit older as well.

When he was satisfied with the way River looked, Clint started packing up his kit.

“What will be the name that goes with this face?” River asked, still massaging the foam through her hair that would, as it dried, lighten the colour of her locks.

“Well, I already call you 'Miss Genius', and you react to it, so a name that sounds close to would be good. Can't think of any good names that sound like 'River',” Clint answered.

“Jean,” River stated. “She is Jean Barton, Clint Barton's _Mei-Mei_.”

Clint smiled a crooked, but happy, smile. “If anything were liable to put the doc as unhappy as a  _r_ _i shao gou shi bing_ , that would be it,” he decided with a chuckle.

River giggled. “ _He_ must have a new name and face too,” she pointed out.

Clint nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “New name, new face, older wardrobe.”

That moment, Inara came padding down the stairs and joined them. “When did we get a new face?” she asked, smiling in amusement.

“A few minutes ago,” River answered happily.

Inara's smile stretched a little further. “If I hadn't  _known_ it was impossible for us to get new passengers out  _here_ , I really  _would_ be asking who you are,” she informed the girl, then turned to Clint. “You know what you're doing,” she complimented. “It looks good. Real, even.”

Before Clint could reply, the proximity alert went off.

“JARVIS!?” Mal yelled.

“It was the fastest way to get everybody's attention, Captain,” JARVIS answered. “I _am_ sorry to interrupt the fun, but we just ran over a corpse and are approaching a converted cargo hauler, ex- a short range scout, last known to have sixteen families boarded in Bernadette. They are three weeks behind schedule for their landing in Newhall, and are presently doing nothing more than spinning in place. I attempted to hail them, per standard procedure, and received no response. There is no distress beacon active, however it should _also_ be noted that there _is_ an Alliance vessel set on a course to pass this way within the next two hours.”

“Meaning if we want to raid it, we got to do it quick, an' have a cover story if'n we're not done by the time the Feds show up,” Mal decided.

“They got air?” Zoe asked.

“All the ship's seals are intact,” JARVIS answered, “and I can detect no breaches in the hull anywhere.”

“Good,” Mal decided. “Hawkeye!” he called out and turned where he stood to face Clint. “You...” then he noticed River, “and your new little sister,” he added, clearly amused, “get to be the cover story. Should also keep the girl out of the Fed's hands.”

Clint fake-coughed and reached into his kit. “Week out, people started getting sick officer,” he explained as he started spreading smudges on his face that made him look like he hadn't slept due to illness keeping him awake. “Me an' Jeanie, we're the last ones left. I'd a activated the distress beacon, but I just cain't figure my way around all these buttons an' switches. Few more folk mighta lived, if the ones as knew hadn't been the ones as went first. Figure, all the goods is ours by right of havin' the luck to've lived longest. Don' want to risk makin' another ship all sick, but we'd really like to see dirt-side before we meet our maker, so Jeanie an' me, decided we'd trade what we have an' don' need for a tow-line. Figure, these folks'd know some others what could use what we cain't no more,” Clint spun as he continued to paint his face all sickly.

“Wow,” Kaylee stated. “Without a moment's thought you come up with all that? _And_ made up your face without a mirror,” she admired.

“You really look like you've been suffering some horrible illness,” Simon admired. Being the doctor, he'd be the one to know. “For some time,” he added when Clint popped in a couple of contacts that yellowed his eyes and made them a bit more bloodshot. “Hell, if I hadn't just _watched_ you do that, my initial assessment of you would be that you were genuinely at death's door.”

“Can't get a better recommendation than from a certified doctor for that,” Jayne said with a smirk.

Mal chuckled. “Agreed,” he said. “Wash, you get in your chair and get us closer. Kaylee, you start to figuring a way we can tow that thing. Might really make off on this one if we bring a whole gorram ship in for sale. Doc, you let Clint make you look as unlike yourself as he's already done for... little Jeanie,” Mal said, smirking afresh at that. “Jayne, you take 'em in the spare shuttle to one of the smaller hatches on that thing so's they can help from that end, then get back here an' see to helpin' Kaylee.”

The crew scattered to their posts, all wearing the smiles of people preparing to be satisfied with their work.

“Rub this through your hair,” Clint ordered, and squirted some foam into one of Simon's hands once the man had sat down next to River for his own transformation.

While Simon massaged in the foam that would give his hair a reddish tint, Clint pulled out another nose and smoothed it onto the Core boy's face. When he was satisfied it was in place and not going anywhere, Clint picked a make up brush and gave Simon a slightly-less-perfectly-shaved look.

“That will have to do,” Clint decided with a satisfied nod. “You keep rubbing that stuff in until you can't feel it any more,” he ordered when Simon started to pull his hands from his hair.

The boy quickly replaced them and kept on rubbing.

Clint turned to River and got to work making her look slightly emaciated and just as sickly as he'd made himself look. It didn't take too long.

“Ready to go?” Jayne asked, “'cause the shuttle is. Wash an' JARVIS 'ave picked a door we can safely attach to for your boarding, since the shuttle's too small to use the main airlock.”

“Just let me grab a gun in case there's anyone on board needs that kind of mercy,” Clint answered as he started to pack up his kit again.

Jayne nodded his acceptance and turned his attention to River. “You're not gonna do any screamin' or nothin' are ya?” he checked.

“Negative,” River answered with a slight smile. “Was heavily medicated, delusional, _and_ in shock at first meeting. She is no longer medicated, and has had time to regain her natural chemical balance. Shall only scream if prompted by the standard stimuli that makes other people scream.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jayne decided.

Clint closed his kit and pulled himself upright. “I'll swing by my bunk and meet you both at the shuttle.”

Jayne and River nodded in acceptance and they separated.

“What do you think we should call the doctor?” Book asked with humour as Clint passed him in the dining area.

“Drake,” Clint answered quickly as he kept moving.

“Oh?” Book prompted as he followed along.

“There was a time, Shepherd Book, when doctors were called 'quacks', mostly because people believed they were liars and charlatans at best, and crazy at worst,” Clint explained as he dropped into his bunk, grabbed a gun and a clip, checked that the gun already _had_ a clip in it, and climbed back out of his bunk again. “A drake is a male duck. Do you know what sound a duck makes?” Clint asked rhetorically as he closed the door of his bunk once more.

“Quack,” the old man answered, amused. “I'll make the recommendation,” he said, trying to smooth his smile away.

“Doctor Drake Mallard,” Clint called over his shoulder as he hurried to the shuttle. “Mallard is a type of duck too.”

“I like it,” Mal announced with a crooked smile as he and Clint crossed paths.

Clint smirked back, an expression that was truly at juxtaposition with his extremely sickly countenance.

Jayne had them at a small air-lock door that would have once led the way to the ship's life rafts in next to no time flat, and then the shuttle was detached and Jayne was on his way back to the firefly as soon as the airlock doors closed behind the two that were staying put on the derelict until they were all clear of the Feds.

“There was screaming here,” River announced softly as the pair of them walked through the ship towards the bridge. “So much screaming.”

Clint lay a hand on River's shoulder. “You gonna be okay?” he asked seriously.

“ _Ping Ming_ ,” River answered.

“That what they did, or what you're going to do?” Clint asked, gently turning her around so that she could look him in the face. Even if that was perhaps not the most comforting visage right at that moment.

“Both,” River told him firmly. “Jean Barton is a little delirious from the illness, and traumatised from seeing friends and family dying all around her, this will account for anything strange she may say.”

“Alright,” Clint allowed. “Let's find the kitchen, splash a little water on your paint, make it look like you're sweating and fevered. Paint won't come off from just a few drops,” he promised.

River nodded. “Must bring mercy to the last of the ghosts,” she added as she followed behind him through the empty ship.

Clint halted in his tracks and turned sharply to face her, a silent question in his eyes.

River only nodded again.

“Well... _Xiong Mao Niao_ ,” Clint decided, and pulled out his gun with a sigh. “Let's go put the _Bei Bi Shiou Ren_ out of his misery then.”

“The ghost may hide, but the Hawk does not miss,” River stated with a comforted smile.

“Got that right,” Barton grumbled.

Not a whole ten minutes later, he proved it too. One shot and the last person who'd gotten onto the ship as a registered passenger was corpsified. Nice and tidy through his left eye. No exit wound to make a mess of the place. Clint picked him up and shoved him into an out of the way place where he wouldn't be seen, for now. They'd get the Shepherd to say rights and such later.

“Come in,” Mal's voice called on the wave. “Clint, Jean. Either of you there?”

“We're -” Clint cut himself off with a cough, getting into character in case the Alliance was close enough and/or inclined to monitor their communications. “We're here Captain Reynolds.” He hacked out a very nasty, very believable cough. “Any word on you bein' able to tow us?”

“Our mechanic has figured a way,” he answered. “But it will be infinitely easier if somethin' can be done about your state as spinnin' on the spot.”

“Captain,” Clint wheezed, “if I could figure _anythin_ ' about this ship, we wouldn' a been so dead out here this long.”

“Lucky for you, it _can_ be done from the outside,” Mal informed him. “We'll get our mechanic suited up, maybe our security man with her, they should be able to steady you. Then we'll get you that tow rope and make our heading for Newfall.”

Clint smiled weakly. “Thanks Captain,” he said. “Anything that's still good on this thing, it's all yours as payment f'r your kindness.”

The act might have been for nothing, it might not have, but they got the tow line in place and out of the path that JARVIS had projected the Alliance cruiser was following.

While they were being towed, River and Clint explored the ship more thoroughly than their initial venture into the kitchen had granted them.

“So many screams,” River whispered.

Clint nodded in agreement. The place was silent now, but he'd bet anything that the people who were supposed to have been on this ship, who were supposed to have hit dirt three weeks previous, had died painful, violent deaths with lots of screaming. “Lack of blood anywhere is interesting though,” he noted.

“Didn't waste a drop,” River answered.

“Drank it?” Clint asked, surprised.

River nodded solemnly, then halted and turned to face a door. “This one is locked,” she stated.

Clint crouched down in front of the locking mechanism to study it. The thing wasn't too complex, and a little judicious application of a kitchen knife saw it pop open. He stood straight again and pulled the door open.

“Luggage compartment,” Clint noted as he stepped in. “C'mon Jean, let's see if there's any clothes in here that will fit you or the doc. That boy needs some less blatantly Core stuff, and you can't keep wearing borrowed things forever.”

“Feels safe to have the Hawk's shirt, comforting to wear the Sunshine's spare coveralls,” River countered meekly.

“Well, they _are_ better than the doll's clothes the doc packed for you,” Clint allowed, “but they're still borrowed. When we hit dirtside, we'll nick the doc's luggage and sell all those fancy clothes, buy him less fancy stuff to replace it.” He turned back to the sight of all the cargo, personal as well as the stuff that so many families would need to start new lives on a new planet. “Unless we find something in here that will fit him.”

River giggled. “He will  _not_ be pleased,” she noted.

Clint smirked back. “He wasn't pleased when Mal called you  _my_ little sister either,” he quipped back. “I could see him grinding his teeth to keep from yelling about it. Think the only reason he bit his tongue was because he knows academically that you're safer if you look different.”

River giggled again. “The Duck is jealous of the Hawk, because though it was the Duck who rescued the girl from the Blue Hands, it is the Hawk who has helped her gain  _freedom_ .”

Clint chuckled. “Bet he's unhappy that I keep sticking him with his own needles too,” he added.

River sighed and nodded. “Negative reinforcement is failing as method of teaching. Duck fails to see that she is stable, simply because she is not as she  _was_ ,” River complained.

“He's a civilian,” Clint stated dispassionately as moved towards the personal cargo. “He doesn't understand, and his inclinations as a doctor make him want to fix, to cure, when all that needs to happen is to accept, adjust, and move forward.”

He opened a suitcase, and froze.

River peered over Clint's shoulder. There was a doll sitting on top of the belongings that had been stowed in that particular suitcase. A doll with blonde hair and blue eyes and a pink dress that was a little bit frayed.

“Her name was Lilu,” she said as she ran a gentle hand over the plastic face.

“The doll? Or the little girl who owned her?” Clint asked softly.

“The girl,” River answered, and took her hand away. “The doll was only called 'Dolly'.”

Clint nodded solemnly and closed the suitcase again. “Do you want to go through the personals, or help me haul the settlement supplies and such down to the bay?” he offered.

“Wait for full company to sort through the personals,” River answered. “Emotional support will be of value at such a time.”

Clint nodded, and for a while, nothing else was said as they carried the crates out and down, one by one. They still hadn't touched down when all of that was shifted, and so mutually decided to start gathering the personal luggage... then anything that was still good from the kitchen... then Clint climbed up to start letting down the corpses that had been turned into a grotesque chandelier... then the bodies were carried down to wait with the rest of the plunder.

They were still another half-hour or so from landing anywhere, and as the whole process was going to be a bit harder for Wash than usual – since the guy wasn't used to parking with a trailer, so to speak – it would probably be a bit longer than that before they touched down.

They raided the personal quarters as well.

“You've been busy,” Mal noted when they were landed at last and the bay doors opened between the crew of _Serenity_ and the 'last survivors'.

“We have,” Clint agreed neutrally. “Shepherd, you've work to do.”

The man didn't need telling twice.

“Beside all them bodies,” Jayne noted as he looked between the corpses and where Clint and River were stood, “you two look even worse,” he finished, and in all honesty he started to look a bit grey as well.

“Might be an idea to take off the paint,” Clint agreed.

“Well, you two go an' do that,” Mal ordered. “You both done enough by this point, been on that ship with all these dead folk until now. I'd say you've both earned a break.”

“We shifted everything that was easy to move,” River spoke up. “Left the engine room for Sunshine. Ship will fetch more as parts than as whole.”

“Not wrong about that,” Zoe agreed.

“Captain?” Kaylee asked.

“Take anything you want for _Serenity_ first, provided it's compatible. Anything else, you grab whoever is at hand to help you haul out,” Mal instructed.

~oOo~

It was a pool pub in Santho. The bar existed as a place for players to stay 'hydrated' from and for their girls, if they brought them, to lounge at and watch the games from. Unless, that is, the girls decided that they wanted to play too.

Mal and Jayne were playing against a couple of guys who had entered with the wide grins of those who just got paid _well_ for something they considered an easy job. Inara was holding a fancy glass at the bar, the drink of a colour with her dress as she watched their game. Clint wasn't too worried about them. He had a table all to himself, with Kaylee in her cover-alls and River in her Jean Barton disguise hovering by, watching as _he_ cleared his own table.

He didn't have anybody to shoot against, so he was being deliberate about the order in which he sank the balls: ascending, solids first, then the stripes, with the eight-ball for last. True to his reputation, he never missed a single shot, so it didn't take long.

“How many can you get in with one shot?” Kaylee asked, excited by the display of skill, when he'd cleared it.

Clint raised an amused eyebrow and cocked a one-sided smile at her. “You want to be impressed?” he asked.

Kaylee grinned in gleeful anticipation, and River nodded right along with her.

“Please big brother?” River added.

Clint chuckled and set the table up again. He carefully placed the white and lined up his shot. It was strange to him, this playing pool with holographic balls. There wasn't any real resistance when he struck, no click of ivory (or even fake ivory) when the balls hit each other, or even the gentle sound of the balls rolling on the cloth. Still, it wasn't hard to compensate for.

“Wow,” Kaylee declared, wide eyed, as with one strike Clint sent every ball on the table scattering into the pockets. All except the white.

River applauded with a giggle. “Applied physics,” she stated happily.

“Angle, trajectory, force, energy distribution, all that stuff,” Clint agreed. He was about to offer to set the table up again and teach them how to shoot pool – though River had _probably_ already figured it out just from watching him – when a fight broke out at the next table.

The table where Mal and Jayne were playing.

They left in a bit of a hurry at that, grabbing up Inara on their way out. Clint didn't get into the fight beyond concussing anybody who tried to stop him and the girls from leaving. The explanation of the fight they got from Inara once they were out, was that the whole thing was brought on by Mal's moral compass directing him to take the bank roll from the men he and Jayne had been shooting pool with. Money that had been made through the shipping of slaves.

They didn't need the money that Mal had lifted. The ship was _very_ well cashed up. They'd made off almost ridiculously well on all the goods from the ship they'd managed to haul in, even with the middle man taking his cut of the sales. Clint's donation to the ship's savings was still mostly untouched, and those savings more than _doubled_ through the addition of selling all those parts and goods off to people who could find a use for them.

Nice as it was to have _Serenity_ in full repair, and even though _he_ had been the one to perform that most recent bit of petty theft, Mal was a mite worried about them being a bit greedy with all this money coming in. JARVIS was still skimming funds from Niska's accounts as well, after all. Still, it was good to work rather than be idle, so they were aiming for Persephone, looking for gainful and preferably profitable work.

After all, however well-cashed they were for now, it was best to not rely on the savings. Savings, when relied on, tended to burn through like nobody's business. Besides, they all kinda _liked_ working. That things had been going smooth on jobs lately, rather than sour, was a nice bonus to working as well.

Clint also liked a laugh, a good _prank,_ now and then, which was why he'd conspired with River to steal all of Simon's fancy, Core-style wardrobe for selling on Persephone. It was close enough to _in_ rather than _out_ that they'd be able to get a good price for the neat, _white_ shirts, the shiny vests, the everything-neatly-pressed clothing. This would force Simon to wear the more humble apparel that River had selected for him from the ship they'd picked clean not so long ago.

The only things Simon would still have to mark him as a Core boy would be his attitude and the clothes he was wearing while the burglary of his bunk was performed.

Local time at the Eavesdown docks where Wash landed _Serenity_ was ten in the A.M. An excellent time for doing business. Clint checked that Simon and River were both suitably disguised – River wanted to come with, and Simon had his own shopping to do – and then followed after the rest of the crew to enjoy a little bit of time surrounded by the colour and diversity of being dirt-side.

“Look at the pretty!” Kaylee called, all excited, from the front of the group.

“What am I looking at?” Wash asked. “The girls or the clothes?”

“The girls?” Jayne guessed.

“The clothes please,” Zoe informed he husband, though she was clearly tickled with his humour, and just as happy as Kaylee was to look at the dresses on display in the shop windows.

“Hey, look at the fluffy one,” Kaylee called more softly, pointing to the high window where a _very_ fluffy dress was on display.

“Too much _fufaraw_ ,” Zoe commented, obediently looking as directed by the cheerful young mechanic. “If I'm gonna wear a dress, I want something with some _slink_.”

“You want a slinky dress?” Wash asked quickly, distracted from the large dress by his wife's comment. “I can buy you a slinky dress.”

“We _are_ well cashed up,” Clint agreed with a chuckle. “I prefer dresses with some drape,” he added.

Kaylee turned from her admiration of the _incredibly_ fluffy dress to focus her attention on Clint, wanting further explanation of his statement. She wasn't the only one.

“Dress that massive,” Clint said with a nod at the fluffy dress, “is a good way of keeping men at a distance. The skirt would get in the way. A dress with some drape to it, it's got the fabric to swish when you're dancing without getting in the way the rest of the time.”

“You have experience wearing dresses?” Wash asked.

Clint shook his head, an 'I walked into that one' smile on his face.

“Learned from Natasha,” River announced softly.

Clint nodded.

Understanding dawned on Kaylee and Zoe's faces, having learned about Natasha from Clint before, while the other guys puzzled out that some woman Clint had known before meeting all of them had taught him about women's clothes.

“Don't know what you'd do with a dress on the ship anyway,” Mal grumbled at last as he shifted the bag he was carrying on his shoulder. “Dressin' up in a ridiculous amount of ruffles won't make the engine run better.”

Zoe, Kaylee and River all levelled flat, unimpressed looks at the captain.

“Go take them dress shopping,” Clint suggested to Wash quietly. “Don't buy anything for my little sister or for Kaylee until I get there though. I want to have some input.”

“You got it,” Wash agreed.

“See you on the ship, Captain,” Zoe informed Mal quietly as she took the bag from him and left with Kaylee, Wash and River.

“I don't see how that could have pissed 'em off,” Jayne commented, confused.

“It's dresses,” Clint answered the man with a shrug. “Never tell a girl she's got no use for a dress, even if it's true.”

The sound of a weapon being cocked and brought to bear at close range made all three of them that were still standing there turn.

“Badger,” Mal greeted, his focus on a slight man in a bowler hat rather than on the big guy pointing the gun at him.

“Captain Reynolds,” answered the man who apparently answered to 'Badger'. “Heard you was in town. Thought we might have us a bit of a sit-down.”

“Prefer a bit of a 'piss off',” Mal answered, a touch hostile.

“I'm very sorry,” Badger said with an amused smile and slightly mocking tone in his voice. “Did I give you the impression I was askin'?” he posed, all very pleasant until the smile abruptly dropped off his face.

Badger's well-armed grunts escorted Mal, Jayne and Clint almost politely into the man's office. He served them tea and sandwiches, which was very civilised. Clint was a paranoid bastard about food being offered by a potential hostile though, so stuck with a teacup that he only pretended to drink from.

Jayne wasn't so cautious, and complimented the tea genuinely.

“There's a trick to it,” Badger answered cordially as he poured his own cup. “Wood alcohol,” he added for explanation, then took his own seat.

“Seems to me, last time there was a chance of a little palaver, we were all manner of unwelcome,” Mal stated cautiously as he didn't touch either cup or sandwiches, eyes fixed on Badger across the table. “Now we're favoured guests, treated to the finest in beverages that make you blind,” he continued as he looked down speculatively into his teacup. Then he looked back up to Badger sharply. “So what is it you need?” he asked shortly as he leant forward, wanting to get the information quickly so he could _leave_ quickly.

“There's a local,” Badger said as he settled in and picked up his own cup of alcoholic tea. “By the name of Warrick Harrow. Got some property he wants to sell off-planet,” he explained. “Fetch a high price,” he added with the smile of a money maker.

“Local powers won't let him sell off-world,” Mal noted, now clear on where this was likely headed.

“It's a conundrum,” Badger agreed. “What my man Harrow needs himself is a smuggler. Willin' to cut you in on it.”

“Why me?” Mal asked, the two words practically slithering out of his mouth. “You have access to ships. You could do it yourself.”

“He won't deal with me direct,” Badger explained unhappily. “He's taken an irrational dislike.”

“Man's a snob then?” Clint asked before Jayne could make a comment through the sandwich he was eating. “To let personal dislike prevent him from doing business?”

Badger smiled an impressed, crooked smile at Clint. “I like you,” he decided. “Yeah. Harrow's a _quality gent_. Nose in the air like he never _Wen Gua Pi_.”

“Or is _always_ smelling one,” Clint suggested with a smirk.

Badger chuckled. “More likely,” he agreed. “Man don't find  _me_ respectable,” he continued to Mal. “But  _you_ ,” he said, pointing at the man, using the gesture for emphasis. “You, I figure, got a chance.”

“You backed out of a deal last time, left us hanging,” Mal said with a slight shake of his head.

“Hurt our feelings,” Jayne added through a mouthful of sandwich.

“You recall why that took place?” Mal asked delicately.

“Had a problem with your attitude is why,” Badger agreed. “Felt you was, what's the word?”

“Pretentious?” Jayne guessed, himself wondering if that was the right word.

“Exactly!” Badger agreed happily. “You think you're better than other people.”

“Just the ones I'm better than,” Mal answered after a shooting a slightly betrayed glance at Jayne that was also laced heavily with 'shut the hell up'. Then he smiled an unhappy smile as he returned his attention to Badger. “And now I'm thinkin' that very quality is the one you're placing value on today.”

“I place value on the fact that the stick up your _Pi Gu_ is about as large as the one that Harrow's got,” Badger answered seriously.

“If he's a quality gent,” Clint chipped in, “then he doesn't have stick shoved up his _Pi Gu_ , he has a silver spoon delicately inserted in his rectum.”

“How would you even set up a meet?” Mal asked, keeping it on business. “Man won't deal with you.”

“Know a place he'll be,” Badger answered. “Safe place,” he added earnestly. Likely the man was aware of how often Mal got shot at on jobs. “Usin' some new-tech gun scans. High class too. Won't let me in there. You might slip in,” he explained. “Course, you couldn't buy an invite with a diamond the size of a testicle,” he added with a small, but smug, grin. “I got my hands on a couple.”

Mal raised his eyebrows in a curious, amused way, chuckling silently as he glanced at Jayne.

Jayne snorted out a laugh – thankfully there hadn't been any food or 'tea' in his mouth at the time.

“Of invites,” Badger snapped when he realised what they were laughing at.

“You walked into that one,” Clint told the man. “But I see a problem,” he added more seriously.

“What's that?” Badger asked.

“Mal may have an attitude to match, but he doesn't have any idea how to move through that sort of society,” Clint explained. “There's more to it than just being a well-dressed _Ho Tze Duh Pi Gu_.”

“Hawkeye,” Mal said lowly. “Tell me what the _Guai_ you're thinkin' in that brain-pan of yours.”

“I go,” Clint answered easily. “And I'll take Kaylee to fill the other invite, give her an occasion to wear a dress and feel all special since you left her feeling more than a bit unhappy on that score earlier. I'm not escorting _you_ Mal, or being your escort.”

Mal shifted uncomfortably at the suggestion of having a male date, and nodded in agreement. “You better be able to do this,” he warned.

“Mal, you doubt my ability to act?” Clint asked, incredulous.

“He's got a point there Mal,” Jayne added. “You saw him go from healthy to dyin' with just a few smears of paint. That rattlin' cough he faked out was damn convincin' too.”

Badger shifted in his seat to consider Clint more carefully. “I find I'm likin' you even more,” he decided with that crooked, satisfied little smile of his.

“I'm likin' this plan too,” Mal agreed. “I don't have to deal with fancy clothes, or _you_ ,” he added with a pointed look at Badger. “I can leave it all to you,” he finished, directing his gaze at Clint before he gave Badger a parting nod and stood to leave. “Jayne. See you back at the ship, Hawkeye,” he ordered as he left.

“Yessir,” Clint answered absently.

“Need a suit?” Badger asked. “Or that dress for the girl?”

Clint shook his head. “I've got a suit,” he answered, “and Kaylee's already looking at dresses with Zoe, Wash, and my  _ Mei-Mei _ . I'm hardly going to let someone  _ else _ buy a dress for my girl.”

Badger smirked back, and produced an envelope. “Invites are in there,” he said. “Party starts at six. Nice meetin' ya, Hawkeye.”

“Captain's opinion notwithstanding, likewise,” Clint answered with a nod as he accepted the invites and stood from the table. It was time for him to find Wash and the women-folk. And sell off Simon's clothes.

He found someone to buy Simon's Core things before he caught up with Wash and the others. Got a good price too. Enough he should be able to buy the services of a seamstress to outfit Kaylee for the ball he was now going to be taking her to, including matching shoes, and possibly even enough left over to buy something simple for River to twirl in... A dress bought from a shop just wouldn't cut it at this sort of society function, and he knew it. The captain wouldn't have. He'd have just bought Kaylee the fluffy rig she'd been admiring and let that be it.

Clint smirked to himself when he found a place that made dresses with a promise of same-day completion for even the most complicated stuff.

“Not for you, I hope,” the woman who was sitting at the counter commented when Clint stepped through her door.

Clint smiled. “A surprise,” he answered.

The woman nodded and gestured for him to join her at the counter. “You have an idea of what you want the dress to look like?” she asked, and gestured at the basic figure that was clear to be seen in the middle of what was apparently her workspace, not just the front counter.

“I do,” Clint answered with a nod, and picked up the stylus so that he could draw out the basic design of a dress for Kaylee. And it _was_ basic. As well as heavily influenced by the Disney 'princess movies' he'd been forced to watch for that short time that he was in the orphanage, and of course by Natasha's tastes. Off the shoulder, fitted bodice – but down to the hips rather than the waist and lots of fabric draping down to the floor so that it would swish. From the waist up, it was Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_. From the waist down, it was Natasha. He'd even included a pair of long gloves in his design.

“It's nice. You got measurements?” the woman asked.

Clint nodded and jotted them down beside the relevant measurement points. “And if it could be in a sort of dusky cream or pale gold?” he asked.

“You got it,” the woman answered. “Taking her dancing tonight?” she asked.

Clint smiled and nodded again. “I am,” he agreed. “What do you have in the way of shoes that might go with this?”

“If your girl doesn't have a pair of her own already, I'll have my husband make some flats,” she answered firmly. “Don't want to go dancing in new heels. Come back in three hours, I'll have this done. Half pay now.”

Clint agreed, accepted a card with a number for the dress and shoes, paid, and excused himself from the shop to  _ find Wash and the girls _ .

“Clint!”

He turned at the sound of three female voices and one male calling his name, and smiled. “Just the folks I was looking for,” he said as he jogged up to join them. “How's the dress shopping?” he asked.

“As if you didn't know, _mister_ ,” Kaylee snapped fondly, poking him in the chest as she spoke.

“Wash said Kayee and I were not to buy dresses without you,” River added. “Have found _many_ that are nice. Would like to actually _buy_ one now.”

“Only dress we've bought so far is a slinky one for me,” Zoe agreed.

“It's a _very_ nice dress,” Wash added with heartfelt sincerity and a lecherously pleased grin on his face.

Clint laughed. “Well, Kaylee  _ Shao Jeh _ ,  _ Mei-Mei _ , would you like to show me which dresses you liked best?” he suggested, offering an arm to each of them.

They laughed, latched on, and immediately began dragging him to a shop.

Zoe and Wash followed, also laughing.

Every dress that Kaylee and River tried on, Clint had them dance a few steps in. Or more accurately, he led them through a few steps in. They eventually settled on a lovely blue sleeveless dress for River, with layers of floaty fabric that were fairly fitted over the body and which hung loose to just below her knees for the skirt. When Clint spun her in that, it twirled out to be almost parallel to the ground. When Clint had deferred dresses for Kaylee for a full three hours, however... Well, it was time to take her to the shop where he'd ordered her dress to be specially made.

“Oh, yes,” the woman said by way of greeting. “You have _good_ eye,” she complimented Clint, and disappeared into the back.

“What's she talking about?” Zoe asked.

Clint only had time to smirk slightly before the woman reappeared with a garment bag in one hand and a pair of shoes in the other.

She went straight for Kaylee. “You hang onto him,” she ordered the girl as she handed the items over. “He designed this himself, gave your measurements off the top of his head, knew your colours. Your man does this for surprise for you? You  _ hang onto him _ ,” she repeated firmly.

“Wh-what?” Kaylee asked, clearly in shock.

The woman laughed. “Go try it on,” she said, waving her hands to usher Kaylee towards the changing room. “Your man does good surprises, I think.”

Numbly, Kaylee obeyed. “ _ Wo Bu Shin Wo Dah Yan Jing _ !” came her shriek barely a moment later.

“You think she likes it?” the woman asked Clint slyly, a pleased smile on her face.

“I think she might,” Clint answered with his own good humour. “Here,” he told her, and handed over a small bag. “The rest of your fee.”

“Without even seeing the dress?” the woman asked, surprised.

Clint shrugged. “She likes it,” Clint answered easily. “And I figure you wouldn't still be in business if you didn't do good work. Besides, I  _ did _ see the shoes. If the rest of the dress is like them, I'm more than satisfied.”

The woman smiled back at him, tucked the money away, and turned back to face the dressing room – she wanted to see how the whole thing looked on the girl it was made for after all.

“Kaylee,” Clint called through the dressing room door. “Are you alright in there?” he asked.

“Shiny,” Kaylee answered, her voice squeaking a bit as the delighted surprise still hadn't worn off, and then finally stepped out in her new dress. “It's... it's...”

Clint's breath caught a moment at the sight, then he smiled and took hold of Kaylee's bared shoulders. “ _ Yi Chi Shen Hu Xi _ ,” he suggested calmly, and breathed with her as Kaylee took a shuddering breath in, then breathed it out again. “You like it then?” he asked.

“Of course I do!” Kaylee answered instantly.

“Good,” Clint said. “Because you'll be spending at _least_ an hour in it this evening, Captain's orders.”  
“What?”

The single-word question was asked simultaneously by everybody but Clint and the woman who'd made the dress – she'd disappeared after seeing the reveal, satisfied with her work.

“Badger's given us two invitations to a fancy shindig tonight,” Clint explained.

“Badger has?” Zoe repeated, confused.

Clint nodded. “It's an opportunity to do business, but Badger himself can't get into such parties even  _ with _ an invitation, and the Captain wouldn't know his way around a ballroom with a painted map. We'll be proxies,” he explained. “I'm going, since I have a better idea of how to move through that sort of crowd than Mal does, and I was  _ hoping _ that Kaylee would agree to be my date?” he asked.

Kaylee's whole face morphed from shock into a grin of ecstatic glee.

“Why Kaylee?” Wash asked, curious. “Not that I'm disagreeing with the choice, but I'm curious.”

“The captain's agreed to it for one, and I'm not taking a guy as my date for two,” Clint answered flatly. “And even if Jean _would_ know all the dances, she's a bit too young still for this sort of society do,” he added with a pointed look at River.

She pouted.

“And I figured that Mrs Washburne might like to spend the night with her husband, rather than me and a whole lot of self-important society-types,” Clint finished.

“Absolutely,” Zoe agreed with a smile at Wash.


	6. Chapter 6

Kaylee had changed back into her cover-alls and they'd all returned to the ship together. She'd then retreated to River's room with the younger girl – where Kaylee's face had been washed thoroughly and various hairstyles were being tried out in readiness for the ball. Clint, after seeing them settled in and leaving his disguise kit for if they wanted to use any of the grease-paint from it, had gone to his own bunk and settled in front of the computer that he'd brought JARVIS on board in.

He wanted details on Warrick Harrow, his business, the new anti-gun security tech that Badger had mentioned being employed for the party...

“Might as well get the details for everybody who's going to be there,” Clint decided when JARVIS offered. “It would be a shame to have an opportunity to do business with _legitimate_ sorts of people and only meet _one_ of them.”

“Indeed Sir,” JARVIS agreed, and started pulling details from the cortex. Names, faces, businesses, titles, interests, who they were attending with, and so on.

Clint was a little surprised to see Inara was going to be there, but only a little. He'd known she was going to be working at her own trade while  _ Serenity _ was docked. He hadn't known she'd been invited by her client to such a party though.

While JARVIS quietly orated all the details of every person who was going to be present at the party, Clint got out his Best. Capital 'B' and all. Chosen for him by Natasha a long time ago when  _ he _ had been assigned the task of infiltrating high society – usually jobs where it wasn't  _ done _ for a woman to be without an escort, but occasionally into gentleman's clubs with strict dress-codes and rules against the presence of women.

“Is there anything else I can do, Sir?” JARVIS asked when he'd finished reading off the guest-list.

“If you can find out if the people Badger wants to sell Harrow's cattle to want them live or already butchered, that would be helpful,” Clint answered.

“Live, I'm afraid Sir,” JARVIS answered, “and to people who are disreputable in the extreme.”

Clint sucked on a tooth as he thought about that. “Unless you can find some better buyers, we're going to need to out-lay for some feed then, and more fuel so that we can get to the buyers faster,” he decided, leaving the implication that JARVIS  _ finding _ a better buyer would be a good thing hanging. He knew the AI would pick it up and work on it. “Have you found the details on the gun-detecting tech that's going to be at the party?” he asked.

“It is a complicated bit of programming,” JARVIS announced. “I've copied the blueprints and the programming to my own servers,” he added. “It _only_ detects firearms, Sir.”

“Which says to my mind that most of these people haven't a clue about blades as anything but kitchen utensils, hair ornaments, and for _duelling_ ,” Clint stated with ambivalence. “I can't believe _duelling_ survived this long,” he grumbled. “Didn't it get _banned_ in England some time in the seventeen-hundreds? No, JARVIS, you _don't_ need to give me a date,” he added quickly.

“Seventeenth _century_ ,” JARVIS corrected, “yes, Sir. Duelling was illegal in a great deal of Europe in fact. Though as competitive sport, sword-fighting and sharp-shooting survived much longer. Sir, you shouldn't _need_ a weapon at this function.”

“I'll still feel more comfortable armed,” he answered the AI firmly. He'd known perfectly well that people had still used swords and such, even in his time. Swordsman from the circus had taught him the blade when Trick Shot had been otherwise occupied – learning he'd built on later, when he'd had the resources to do so. SHIELD's resources. And Natasha had taught him how to _really_ handle a dagger on top of that.

A sword would be a bit obvious to carry into the party though, as would bow and arrow, and of course guns were out, so Clint picked out a few daggers that he could hide about his person, just in case something went  _ really _ wrong.

Everything picked out, Clint shaved carefully and slicked his hair back a little. Not a lot, he didn't want it to look  _ greasy _ , but it was styled and professional-looking. He dabbed on his sandalwood aftershave, rather than the scentless one he used normally, rubbed moisturiser into his callouses and checked over his nails – generally kept short because long nails just got in his way, but for occasions like this one they'd have to be  _ tidy _ , not just short. He applied his antiperspirant, and then he suited up.

“Wow,” Kaylee admired when he knocked on River's room and was permitted entry.

“No, I'm fairly sure I'm the one who is supposed to say that to _you_ ,” Clint countered with a smile of his own. “I _do_ hope the hair is secure though,” he commented lightly as he took in the elegantly simple up-do that no doubt River had styled, sweeping Kaylee's hair back into a bun before letting it fall down the back of her neck. Very Belle. Clint spared a moment to wonder where River had gotten the idea to style it that way from. “Because I have _every_ intention of dancing with you.”

“It is secure,” River promised, rising from her seat on her bed. “And she got it from _you_ ,” she added, poking Clint in the forehead once.

“Ah,” Clint floundered a little weakly. “So you...”

“Blue Hands' modifications resulted in ability to hear things that were not said, or things that _were_ said before she could have heard them,” River stated calmly.

“Right. Thank you for not _sharing_ everything you hear then,” Clint said. “It would have spoiled the surprise for Kaylee.” Within himself, he was also glad that River hadn't shared his history either.

River smiled at him. “She knows which secrets need to not be told,” she said easily. “And just because she knows what will be said, does not change that she likes to hear you say it.”

Clint smirked. “In that case,” he said, “I'm letting you know that, just because you know  _ where _ I'm hiding my chocolate stash, that doesn't mean you're allowed  _ anywhere _ near it.”

River giggled. “Hawkeye's traps around his chocolate are too troublesome to circumvent,” she stated loftily.

“Good,” Clint answered firmly, and turned back to Kaylee. “Milady, I believe we have a ball to get to,” he said, offering his hand to her.

Kaylee smiled. “So we do,” she agreed, and slipped her hand into his.

Promptly at six, they arrived at the door. It was probably not entirely fashionable to be so prompt, and likely that people would be arriving for a good four hours more, but being there from the beginning would give Clint more opportunity to dance with Kaylee and make business contacts  _ both _ . Being there from the very beginning of the party when there were people who wouldn't even  _ think _ of arriving until the first hour (at least) had passed, also meant that there was more dance floor – and Clint had a quiet word with the string quartet about playing something with some  _ life _ in it while there was no one else who was going to complain.

“What are you doing?” Kaylee asked as Clint led her out to the middle of the basically empty dance floor.

“ _We_ ,” Clint corrected, “are dancing.”

The few brief lessons of earlier in the day, when Clint had walked her through some steps in each dress she'd tried on, came into play. Where Clint led, Kaylee followed. When he dipped her, she trusted him not to drop her. When he lifted her, she didn't scream. When he twirled her, she laughed in delight. And true to River's promise, Kaylee's hair stayed put through it all.

They didn't stop until Kaylee said she was starting to get tired and a little dizzy.

They were applauded off the dance floor by the few who had arrived since six – and by the string quartet as well. Clint gave polite nods to the former and a grateful if shallow bow to the latter, while Kaylee smiled at them all, and he led her to the buffet table.

“Oh, mangoes!” Kaylee exclaimed quietly in surprise. Delighted, _eager_ surprise.  
“Impossible to eat tidily,” Clint commented. “But if you like, I'll make sure we have some on the ship before the captain wants us off world.”

“Thank you,” Kaylee said softly, and reached for a couple of grapes instead.

“That was quite something,” a feminine voice commented from behind Clint's shoulder.

Both turned to face the speaker.

“I'm sorry,” Clint said, “we were rather preoccupied when you were announced, and this is our first time here.”

“Banning Miller,” the blonde supplied, and offered her hand to be kissed.

Clint took it and bowed slightly over it, clearly with no intention of actually  _ kissing _ the gloved appendage, before he straightened again, released the hand back to its owner, and placed a hand in the small of Kaylee's back. “I'm Clinton Barton, this vision who deigned to accompany me is Kaywinnet Lee Frye,” he introduced, and gave a brief but pointed look past the blonde to the three  _ other _ women standing with her.

“Call me Kaylee,” Kaylee insisted with a smile and a slight curtsey.

“This is Dester, Cabott and Zoe,” Banning introduced briefly, pointing to each of the other three around her. “We were all wondering...” she started, then trailed off and clearly changed what she as going to ask. “Who made your dress, Kaylee?”

“Oh, uh...” Kaylee floundered at the question.

Clint chuckled in amusement. “We never actually asked,” he admitted. “I've got the woman's card back on the ship though.”

“Oh,” Banning sighed softly. “It's just... so beautiful.”

“Oh Clint designed it,” Kaylee supplied, and smiled fondly up at him. “Man's just _full_ of hidden talents.”

“Really?” asked the one introduced Cabott.

Clint nodded. “Just for my  _ Bao Bei _ ,” he affirmed with a fond smile at Kaylee – he still noticed that all four of the women looked put out by that endearment, even focused on Kaylee as he was.

“And where did you learn to dance like that?” Dester asked. “I've never seen such dancing before.”

“Oh from him,” Kaylee answered with a cheeky smile.

Clint chuckled. “It's a style of dance that was very popular on Earth-That-Was during the twentieth and early twenty-first century,” he answered the ladies. “It's amazing the things a person can learn if they just care to try. Now, if you ladies will please excuse us? We really must recover from our fun for a moment.”

The four women curtseyed, and Kaylee curtseyed back while Clint bowed very slightly.

Clint took Kaylee's hand and guided her across the room to some chairs, one of which Kaylee sank into gratefully.

“I'm _really_ glad I'm not wearing heels,” she informed him. “And did you mean what you said? Calling me _Bao Bei_? Or was that just to keep them away?”

Clint smiled a little sheepishly down at her. “If I told you I wasn't entirely sure, you mind?”

“A bit,” she answered, “but I'll let you get away with it for tonight,” Kaylee decided.

“Would you like me to fetch you a drink?” he offered, relieved that Kaylee wasn't going to be upset with him about it.

“Just a drink?” Kaylee asked, eyes wide and a small fake-pout on her face.

Clint chuckled, and he bent to kiss Kaylee's hand. “I'll bring you something to drink _and_ some fruit from the buffet table,” he promised.

“I'll stay here,” Kaylee countered easily, “so don't be too long.”

They'd recovered from their first dance, had made plenty of conversation with gentlemen around the room – a great many of whom were more than happy to listen to a pretty girl talk about engines knowledgeably – and including Warrick Harrow, who Clint was there to make contact with in the first place. Of course, the man wasn't the  _ only _ one Clint managed to secure work from. He was just the only one who he'd secured  _ immediate _ work from, and who's immediate work included shifting a herd of cattle from one planet to another. Every other contact was work in portentia, agreeing to look him up if they ever needed anything shifted.

Clint was leading Kaylee in a stately waltz through a considerably more crowded dance floor when the doorman announced “Atherton Wing and Inara Serra.”

“Inara?” Kaylee repeated, surprised, and turned wide eyes on Clint.

“Let her come to us,” Clint suggested. “Sounds like she's here with a client, after all.”

Kaylee nodded in acceptance, and looked around the dance floor. “These girls have the most beautiful dresses,” she commented.

“And so do you,” Clint reminded her.

“How 'bout that?” Kaylee answered with a grin that she pointed directly and only at him. Then her eyes skipped past Clint's face and followed something that had passed behind. “That is the biggest bowl of strawberries I've ever seen,” she said softly.

Clint chuckled. “But it could actually be bananas, done up to  _ look _ like strawberries,” he teased.

“ _Bi Jweh_ ,” Kaylee ordered, though the smile and gentle laughter in her tone proved she didn't really mean it, and was tickled by Clint's humour.

“Well, we won't know for sure unless we go over and test them, now will we?” Clint asked, and started to direct their waltzing back to the buffet table.

“No,” Kaylee agreed with a growing smile, “we won't.”

It wasn't long before Inara  _ did _ approach them, with Atherton Wing on her arm. Quite literally, Clint noted silently, as he took in the possessive and likely  _ bruising _ grip the rich boy had on Inara's left bicep.

“Kaylee, Clint, what are you two doing here?” she asked.

“Socialising,” Clint answered. “Eating strawberries, admiring the many impractical uses that superfluous expense has been put to.”

“And dancing,” Kaylee added happily. “Clint is a very good dancer.”

“I had a good teacher,” Clint answered.

“Natasha again?” Kaylee asked.

“Actually no,” Clint informed her. “Natasha was my partner when I was learning, but she wasn't my teacher.”  
“Then who taught you to dance?” Inara asked, a smile on her face that didn't entirely reach her eyes.

“A good man called Phillip Coulson, though he taught me a lot more than just dancing,” Clint answered, though he didn't have a smile to answer Inara with as well. “He, ah, he... died, a few months before I had the good fortune of meeting you both.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Inara said sympathetically.

Clint nodded in silent gratitude.

“Must have been quite a man, to teach you dances from Earth-That-Was,” Kaylee quipped in an effort to cheer him up again.

“A dance from Earth-That-Was?” Inara pressed, an eager smile now on her own face. It wilted a bit almost as soon as it appeared.

Clint looked down at the hand Atherton Wing was holding Inara with. Its grip was even tighter than earlier. “Indeed,” he agreed shortly.

“You could teach Inara a few steps, couldn't you Clint?” Kaylee suggested, having also noticed.

“But that would require leaving your side!” Clint exclaimed softly.

Kaylee smiled. “I'll rest my feet from dancing, maybe have some shimmer wine, and enjoy  _ watching _ you dance for a change,” she told him.

Clint pressed a soft, tender kiss to Kaylee's gloved hand, then turned to Inara and Atherton. “If you like, and if Mr Wing will be  _ generous _ enough as to spare you for a minute or two, then I will talk with the musicians and walk you through some of the steps,” he offered – and in such a way that it would be rude of the man to refuse.

And Atherton Wing knew it.

“He seems a jealous man,” Clint said softly to Inara as he led her through the steps.

“He _is_ my client this evening,” Inara pointed out. “He's even offered me a permanent place here in Persephone, as his personal Companion,” she added.

Clint wore a knowing smile as he twirled the very professional woman. “Wouldn't be nearly as fun,” he teased softly. “Only one man, only one planet, and no Kaylee to be cheerful as sunshine on even the cloudiest of days.”

“But I have to be delicate about the matter,” Inara explained.

“Of course,” Clint agreed. “Now, I'm going to dip you in a second, so I want you to hold tight to my shoulder with your left hand, tense your torso, and carry your weight on your legs. Okay?”

Inara nodded.

Clint dipped her. “If you drop your head back, you'll be able to see Atherton from a new angle,” he offered with a smile.

Inara laughed softly and did just that, her smile growing wider when Clint brought her back up and spun her again.

“Does he hurt you?” Clint asked seriously as he spun around her, and spun her in the process. “He was holding your arm very tightly.”

“He... he hasn't been as proper with me as he should be, as he used to be,” Inara answered lowly.

“Then he feels familiar, and in becoming familiar he reveals that he isn't the man he presents himself to you as,” Clint analysed. “How about a lift?” he offered. “You just have to trust me and _not_ scream. Your limbs will know where to go on their own.”

“I think I can do that,” Inara answered.

And then Clint had a hand around her thigh and was lifting her up, still turning, before he released her a moment, caught her before she touched the ground, and dipped her again – but this time with her feet somewhat in the air – before he set her on her feet again.

“Fun?” he asked.

Inara laughed. “Very,” she agreed.

Then Atherton was there. He cut in  _ quite _ rudely and took a fierce hold of Inara once more, made to full on  _ drag her off _ , even.

“Now there's no need for being so grabby,” Clint remarked pointedly.

“Excuse me. She's not _here_ with you, _Mr Barton_ ,” Atherton snapped, halted in his dragging of Inara. “She's _mine_.”

Inara didn't look too impressed with the claim of ownership from where she stood behind Atherton, though she remained silent.

Clint noticed all the same, though he'd put that down to being  _ facing _ the woman, rather than holding her like she were a hostage.

Kaylee walked up to join them.

“Yours?” Clint repeated delicately. “I was under the impression that Miss Serra belonged to _herself_ ,” he countered.

Atherton got up in Clint's face, released his hold on Inara to do it too. “Money changed hands,” he said in a warning tone, “which makes her mine tonight. No matter how you dress her up she's still -”

Kaylee slapped the man before he could finish that sentence. “Don't you  _ dare _ say such things about Inara,” she said fiercely, her voice carrying through the suddenly hushed room. It seemed that the cracking sound of a slap to the face  _ carried _ , even in crowded ballrooms.

“How dare you even _touch_ me you little -” Atherton hissed.

He was interrupted by Clint's fist that time. “You will  _ not _ speak to Kaylee in such a way,” he stated flatly to the man who lay on the ground. He  _ did _ know how to throw a punch after all. “Nor will you insinuate anything about her,  _ or _ Inara, that might be taken as derogatory.”

“I accept,” Atherton stated when he'd pulled himself upright.

“There has been a challenge,” announced a man in a black coat with green-gold leaves down the front from behind Atherton. He'd walked up when Atherton went down.

“Clint, do you have any idea what you've done?” Inara hissed at him quietly.

“Of course I do,” he answered, his tone polite, reasonable, and level.

“The duel will be met tomorrow morning at Kaytree Pond,” decided the same man in the very fancy black jacket with its very fancy plant-like embroidery. “If you require it, any gentleman here can give you use of a sword.”

“No,” Clint answered. “That's perfectly alright. I _do_ have my own.”

“You do?” Kaylee blurted out in surprise.

“I do,” Clint answered with a chuckle. “But it, like all my other weapons, is back at the ship, so I'll need you to fetch it for me.”

“Why can't you fetch it yourself?” Kaylee asked nervously. “The duel isn't until the morning, right?”

“Clint will be put up in lodgings here so that there won't be any running away,” Inara explained nervously.

“So you see why I need _you_ to fetch my sword for me. It isn't exactly on display, but Jean will know where it is. Besides, you have to let the captain know about all the interesting things that we did tonight,” Clint explained.

“You will need a second,” the gent who'd been making the challenge announcements stated.

Clint nodded. “Another reason for you to go back to the ship,” he added to Kaylee. “I'd like the doctor to be my second.”

“The _doctor_?” Kaylee repeated, incredulous.

“If for no other reason than he'll probably be useful to have on hand when the whole thing is over,” Clint answered with a smirk. “And apologise to Badger for the upset for me, would you Kaylee?”

“Knowing the deal is good will comfort him a good bit,” she answered, managing to be a bit grumpy through her slight distress.

~oOo~

Clint was, in fact, permitted to return to the ship to collect his sword himself. Though, not on his own. He had an escort. Still, being permitted to return to the ship at all meant he could tell Mal and Badger himself that the deal was solid, and he could  _ personally _ request the doctor be his second for the duel in the morning.

“I want to watch,” River declared softly as Clint took off the parts of his suit that he could with a young lady standing in his doorway. “See the Ronin in the morning.”

“ _Dang ran._ Having my _Mei-Mei_ there supporting me makes sense,” Clint agreed. “You'll have to apply your own paint in the morning though,” he pointed out.

“Knows how,” River answered with a smile.

Clint nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. “Now out! I want to get into something more comfortable that I can wear for tomorrow.”

“I sharpened your sword for you while you were at the ball,” River offered as she moved closer to the ladder. “Returned it to its previous place.”

“Knew I'd hit someone, huh?” Clint asked, amused.

“Knew the probability was high,” River corrected with a superior smile of her own before she clambered up the ladder and out of sight.

“Sir,” JARVIS spoke up once River was gone. “Would you like me to start appropriating funds from Mr Wing as well?”

“I want you to take over his accounts entirely when I kill him in the morning,” Clint answered stonily. “The man has no living family he would will his fortune to.”  
“Indeed he does not,” JARVIS agreed. “He does, however, own several questionable businesses.”

“Draw up a report for me to read later,” Clint instructed as he brought out his sword in its scabbard from where he'd stowed it, slipped a soft bag over the lot so that the sheath wouldn't be damaged, slung his over-night bag over his shoulder, and climbed out of his bunk.

The entire crew, Badger and his men, as well as Clint's “escort” to make sure he didn't skip out, were all waiting for him in the cargo bay.  
Mal stepped up.

“We talked it out,” Mal said, with a glance at Badger to indicate just who the talking had been between. “We're all going to be there to watch the duel in the morning.”

Clint nodded. “I'll wager you won't be the only ones,” he said. “Might be an interesting bit of action,” he added with a smirk. “Atherton Wing, who has killed twelve men already in duels, versus me, Hawkeye, an unknown but who has his own sword.”

“That's a good point,” Badger said, his tone soft and speculative. “Kaytree Pond you say?” he mused. “I'll put the buzz around. Ain't many folk get to see the _genteel_ folk goin' at each other.”

Clint nodded, and moved to join his “escort”.

The rooms Atherton had set Clint up in were quite nice. That was as much of a compliment as he was going to give them though. He'd stayed in nicer hotel rooms than this, to say nothing of Stark Tower. Admittedly, he'd redecorated his apartment in Tony's building to suit  _ his _ taste rather than extravagance, but when it was all shiny and new it had been superior to Atherton's offering by a factor of ten.

Still, it was quite nice, and the bed was comfortable.

Being shaken awake in the middle of the night by Inara in her negligee wasn't, he was fairly sure, part of the services being offered however.

“Miss Serra, I really must insist that you let me sleep,” Clint said.

“Do you have _any_ idea what you're doing?” she asked in a hiss.

“I thought you asked me that already,” Clint answered sleepily.

“Atherton is an _expert_ swordsman,” Inara insisted. “Now, there's a back door and the clerk is -”

“I'm _not_ sneaking out in the middle of the night,” Clint cut her off. “And even if I were, I wouldn't need help to do it,” he added.

“Clint,” she begged softly.

Clint sighed. “What time is it?” he asked.

“About three, maybe a bit closer to four,” Inara answered, confused by the query. “Why?”

Clint sighed again. “Late enough in the pre-dawn hours for me to start getting ready for the fight I suppose,” he allowed. “Run through my forms, warm up the muscles and so on. You're free to leave at your leisure of course. It wouldn't do for you to be found in  _ my _ rooms, I am sure.”

Inara nodded her assent a little warily, not sure she could believe that Clint – who she cared for as a friend and knew to be a good man – would  _ live _ to see another sunset.

Then Clint loosed the drawstrings of the bag over his sword, pulled the bag away, and revealed the perfectly black, matt-finished sheath and handle of a Japanese sword. Even the guard between handle and sheath, and the chords wrapped around the top of the scabbard were a dull black.

Clint carefully removed the sheath, revealing the sharp, gleaming blade that was hidden within, and slowly worked his way through the motions of his sword.

“Alright,” Inara admitted not long after Clint started. “You've convinced me. This isn't _quite_ as foolish a move on your part as it would have been if Mal were in your position.”

Clint snorted in amusement. “Difference is, Mal would have hit the man sooner than I did,” he commented. “Mal may not respect your job much, but he does hold you in very high regard. More than that, he's a big, dumb, hero-type who cares about you. I'll wait for you to tell me if you actually  _ need _ me to defend your honour or not, because I'm fairly sure you can handle Atherton and any others like him. Kaylee on the other hand...” he didn't need to finish that sentence.

Inara nodded in understanding. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I should go now though...”

“You should,” Clint agreed with a nod of his own. When she was gone, Clint lowered his sword and picked up the sheath from where he'd left it on his bed. Gently, he hid the gleaming, deadly edge once more. He'd catch a bit more sleep, then get properly going at a slightly more appropriate hour.

Another two hours of sleep, a shower, a good breakfast, a shave and a few stretches later, and Clint picked up his sword again, hidden once more in its cloth bag.

Kaytree Pond was surrounded by the inquisitive rich, and a good deal more of the common population who were interested in laying bets.

“Can I say how glad I am you showed up?” Simon asked Clint quietly, rhetorically. “Even if I _am_ mad at you for switching out my wardrobe? Because I was never very good at duelling when I studied it at school,” he admitted.

“No worries Doc,” Clint answered the boy easily. “Me naming you as my second had more to do with you owning a medical kit than you being the only other male on the ship who knows more than which end you're supposed to hold.”

“Do... do you think you'll need medical attention when you're done?” Simon asked.

Clint shrugged. “Might,” he allowed. “These  _ are _ live blades we're fighting with. Having a medical professional on hand to pronounce death will come in handy to, I dare say.”

Simon swallowed nervously and clutched his red bag a little tighter.

Clint removed the bag from around his sword when he noticed that Atherton was finally ready to begin. He didn't draw his sword though, just loosed it in the sheath – right hand hovering over the grip, left hand holding the top of the sheath.

Atherton had his legs bent, his sword-tip up, and began with a straight lunge at Clint's midriff.

Clint spun away from the attack, used his movement to draw his sword, and brought both it and the sheath down with a sharp and heavy  _ clang _ on top of Atherton's blade.

It went down. All the way to the ground, Clint forced Atherton's sword down. Then he stepped on the tip with his left foot to  _ keep _ it in the ground before the man properly caught on. Clint, after all, wasn't fighting in any way that Atherton had seen before. Wasn't even using a  _ sword _ like the rich dandy had ever seen before.

Atherton had been expecting someone who telegraphed their moves, swung from the shoulder, who had  _ no _ idea what they were doing, and who used a  _ western _ style of blade. His initial lunge had been meant to begin a short time of  _ toying _ with his opponent.

A mistake.

Before Atherton could attempt to retreat, to move away from his opponent and free his sword at the same time, the very fine and expensive sword  _ broke _ . Small bits went flying. And Clint had moved around the man. He slashed at the backs of Atherton's knees and forced the man to the ground, then walked slowly around to stand over the man.

Clint's strike as powerful and clean. Atherton Wing's head fell to the grass two feet away from his body.

“To die in shame, a death brought about by shame,” River said softly off to the side, and drew out from _her_ bag a pure white cloth, which she draped over her hands and held out, waiting.

The corner of Clint's mouth twitched in amusement at River, and he walked up to her, the smear of blood not thick enough to drip off his blade.

River bowed her head.

Clint set his sword on the white cloth that she held.

River raised her head.

Clint bowed his.

“I will clean and sharpen it once more,” River promised.

“Thank you _Mei-Mei_ ,” Clint answered.

“You, ah, you got cut by some of the fragments from Atherton's blade when you broke it,” Simon said as he fumbled to get his red bag open.

“Pierced,” Clint corrected. “My clothes got cut. My _flesh_ got _pierced_. I can feel those fragments _in_ there,” he said, though he gave no indication of feeling any _pain_. He _was_ in pain, but he was a trained soldier, spy, assassin, and a damn good actor. Just because he _felt_ pain didn't mean he was going to _show_ it.

“That's the most impressive thing I've ever seen,” Badger declared with a smile as he rocked up to them. “Made a fair crew of money off the bettin' for this. I thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Clint answered with a chuckle.

Badger tipped his hat, handed over a few platinum (“Your share, bein' as how you were the one at risk an' all,”) and went on his merry.

Clint didn't bother to watch the man go, just took off his shirt and sat down where he was so that Simon could start giving medical attention to the bits of him that were injured.

“That was certainly impressive,” Zoe complimented.

“Where did you learn to do _that_?” Wash asked.

“Circus for some,” Clint answered. “Army for some -”

“No army brigade I know of taught a man to use a sword,” Mal cut in.

“A bayonet is a gun with a blade on the end, just a bit longer than my sword,” Clint explained, waving it off. “Learned a bit more after the army too.”

“Phillip Coulson,” River said softly. “A mentor in many things.”

“The guy who taught you dances from Earth-That-Was?” Kaylee asked. “He taught you how to use a sword as well?”

“Just a different sort of dance,” Clint and River answered at the same time, but with _very_ different tones of voice.

“Okay, that right there was a little creepy,” Jayne stated.

“Clint,” Shepherd Book said, his tone grave. “I can't condone killing...”

“That's because you're an essentially good man,” Clint answered him firmly. “High society, as a rule, isn't made up of essentially good men.”

Book swallowed tensely.

“If I had let him live, then what Shepherd?” Clint asked seriously. “He would have continued to treat women as objects instead of people, he would have _probably_ put out a _bounty_ on my head, thereby endangering everybody else aboard _Serenity_ just that little bit more... And if the positions had been reversed and it was me at the end of _his_ sword, I can assure you Shepherd that he would _not_ have hesitated to kill me.”

Shepherd Book breathed deeply, not totally satisfied with what had happened, but aware that what Clint had said was more likely true than false. One of them was always going to die that day. Of the two, Book could admit within himself that he was glad that it was his friend Clint Barton who had lived, over Inara's customer Atherton Wing.

When the injuries were doctored and all the spectators had left, another figure appeared.

A figured with dark hair, all dressed in green and gold and black. Familiar to Clint and wholly unwelcome.

“Loki,” Clint greeted tersely. “What are you doing here?”

“You're bleeding,” Loki answered, as though that explained everything. “I was worried.”

“How the hell would you know if I was bleeding or not?” Clint demanded.

Loki pushed back his sleeves – just slightly – to reveal the cuffs about his wrists. “Whatever your opinion of me, you _do_ still wear the medallion I gave you,” Loki answered quietly.

Clint snarled and deliberately _didn't_ reach for the bit of metal that hung around his neck. “So what? It tells you if I'm injured?” he demanded. “Were you hoping to find me at death's door so you could whisk me away and play up saving my life?”

“No,” Loki answered. “I... I just wanted to be assured of your health.”

Clint snorted in contempt, and looked the 'god' up and down. “You look older,” he noted, only marginally less hostile.

“It has been a _long_ time since I last saw you,” Loki answered delicately, giving Clint a _significant_ look.

Clint took that to mean that the Loki standing before him now had _lived_ through the centuries that Clint had been _transported_ through by use of a broken Bifrost.

“How's your brother?” Clint asked.

“Well, and taken over from our father. He's made me one of his advisors,” Loki answered. “Clint, have you -”

“Well, as you can see, I'm _fine_ , so if you wouldn't mind _leaving_ now...?” Clint suggested, cutting of Loki before he could ask anything Clint didn't want to or _couldn't_ answer.

Loki nodded sadly. “As you wish,” he said softly, then bowed deeply and disappeared.

“Who the hell was that?” Mal asked.

“Loki,” Clint answered shortly.

“We got that,” Zoe said.

“And that's all you're going to get,” Clint bit out, then sighed. “Sorry,” he apologised shortly. “The guy just makes me tense.”  
“Is he someone we need to worry about?” Mal asked.

Clint shook his head. “Only when he shows his face,” Clint answered, “and he's set on proving to me that I don't need to worry about what he might be up to _then_ either, so you should be safe enough.”

Mal nodded in acceptance. “Alright then,” he decided. “Time to head back to the ship. We've got interesting new crime all lined up after all.”

“Yeah, movin' a herd of cattle,” Jayne groused.


	7. Chapter 7

They had left Persephone behind well and truly when River descended into Clint's bunk, carrying his sword over her shoulder, all clean and freshly sharpened.

He was sitting on his bunk, tinkering with tools and something small that rested on his lap-table.

River carefully returned the sword to its place and then sat down on the bed next to Clint. For a while, she just watched him silently.

“He was the one who played,” she said when Clint set down his tools at last. “Took your brain and played. Took you out, stuffed something else in. Unmade.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Loki was the one who did for me.”

“Brought you here,” River offered. “Can't be _all_ bad if he brought you here.”

Clint sighed. “That's actually what makes it harder,” he told her. “He was _always_... good to me. I just...”

“He called you his _Bao Bei_ , but you were not free,” River finished, and wrapped a hand around one of Clint's in a silent offer of comfort. “She knows.”

Clint brought his free hand over to cover River's. “Thank you, _Mei-Mei_.”

River leant up to give Clint a kiss on the cheek, then rested her head on his shoulder and turned her attention again to what Clint had been tinkering with. “What were you making?” she asked.

Clint chuckled. “You're only asking because it's polite,” he pointed out, amused.

“Only part true,” River countered. “She knows what you will say, but she also likes to hear you say it,” she reminded him.

Clint smiled. “I'm making a communication device. All the ones I've seen being used around are big things, take up a whole pocket, conspicuous,” he explained.

“Jayne's transmitters are more subtle,” River pointed out.

“Ah, but they're _Jayne's_ ,” Clint replied. “He isn't one for pulling out his fancy gear all the time unless it's his guns that Mal doesn't _want_ him pulling out all the time, and I'd like to be able to keep in contact with JARVIS when I'm away from the ship. Besides which, being able to talk with _you_ from _opposite ends_ of the ship would be a fun thing to do.”

River giggled. “Then one is for her?” she asked eagerly.

Clint nodded. “One for you and one for me finished so far, and JARVIS has already linked into them,” he explained. “I'll probably make enough that everybody on the ship will have one, even the Shepherd.”

“Will be good to have,” River decided. Then she smirked. “Will enable Clint to yell in Simon's ear about needles from the other end of the ship.”

Clint chuckled. “It will,” he agreed. “Likelihood of him giving up on trying to attack you with drugs?” he asked.

“Between one and two percent,” River answered with a sad sigh. “Would be _less_ than one percent, but being drugged himself has made Simon more cautious. Also has started to treat her like handicapped child between viewing her as experiment that he must reverse the effects of. She is to be dressed up like a doll and he must use only small words when speaking to.”

“Forgotten you're a genius, has he?” Clint asked wryly.

River nodded sadly.

“Then he needs a kick in the head,” Clint stated with false regret, which earned him a giggle from the girl who was resting her head on his shoulder. “Then again, boy said he was a _trauma_ _surgeon_ , not a neurologist of any sort,” he said with a huffed sigh.

“All this trouble because she wanted to dance,” River commiserated sadly, then directed a pout and glare _both_ up at Clint. “And then when a ball came along, she was called _too young_ to attend.”

“Wasn't a single person there less than twenty-five,” Clint said firmly. “Kaylee wasn't just _one_ of the youngest there, she was _the_ youngest, though the dress covered for that some.”

“Could have made her look older,” River pointed out.

“Uh-huh,” Clint agreed. “But Kaylee was a good fit,” he pointed out. “She was happy to dance, but _equally_ happy to talk to people over the offerings of the buffet table. Would you have wanted to leave the dance floor at all?”

River blushed a little. “No,” she admitted softly.

Clint disentangled his hands from River's, but didn't shift her head from his shoulder, and picked up his tools. He had more comm units to build after all.

“Is it really _dope_ that Simon uses?” Clint asked softly as he worked.

“Opium,” River answered with a nod. “Most popular anaesthetic. Frequently mixed with morphine.”

“ _Yi Da Dwei Bun Chou Roh_ ,” Clint swore. “That _Go shi_ can be _addictive_ ,” he growled. “How the hell did it -!?”

“Popular,” River repeated. “In last days of Earth-That-Was, popular drugs and methods of production were saved, meaning those which were addictive. Since leaving Earth-That-Was, new drugs have been synthesised. Cures have been discovered. Favoured methods for losing consciousness when pained were not priorities.”

“It's _Kuh Wu_ is what it is,” Clint stated.

“It's Blue Sun,” River answered with a shrug. “The Alliance, the Company. They are the ones that get in, take you, that most do not see or do not think on if they do. Have the whole 'verse strung out on drops.”

Clint nodded. “I get it. They own everything so no one thinks anything of buying from them,” he said. “And they sink their fangs in deeper every time.”

“She thanks you for bringing consumables from Earth-That-Was,” River whispered. “Less presence of Blue Sun on _Serenity_.”

Clint chuckled. “You're welcome,” he told her. “But you know, if Mal knew that Blue Sun and the Alliance were basically the same thing these days, he'd probably stop buying from them.”

River smiled. “Likelihood is ninety-two percent,” she agreed.

“There's seriously an eight percent chance Mal would continue buying from the Alliance?” Clint asked, amused.

River shrugged. “Blue Sun is a monopoly,” she explained sadly. “Alternatives are hard to find. Even to grow own produce, seeds must be purchased from Blue Sun. Alliance goods. The Gen-Seed.”

“But _my_ plants were bought from a nursery in New York, and the seeds have, I think, 'Yates' written on the packets,” Clint said with a smile.

“They do,” River agreed. “The recipes you brought with you are unique and wonderful as well. No one on this ship has ever had anything like them before.”

Clint chuckled. “Might be because these days  _meat_ is so damned unobtainable. Here we are, shifting however many head of cattle, and more is going to be turned into powdered protein than sold as proper cuts.”

“Which is why our eventual buyer will be given one _less_ than the full number of cattle we're hauling,” JARVIS supplied.

“Not _Badger's_ buyer,” River said with a smirk.

“No,” Clint agreed with an answering smirk. “Not Badger's buyer. He would have tried to dodge out of paying full price. He knows where we'll be if he wants to make a bid though. We're still going to Jianyin after all.”

“River?” came Simon's voice, tentatively calling for her. “Where are you?”

River groaned softly. “He can _not_ stick sharpened needles in my eyes and demand to know what I  _see_ ,” River complained to Clint.

“Might be a thing to tell him that,” Clint advised. “Come on Miss Genius, I'll back you up.”

“Could kill him with my brain,” River countered, even as she rose from the bed. “And in any number of other interesting, painful, and bendy ways.”

Clint chuckled. “I believe you,” he told her, and tapped the tip of her nose lightly in fondness. “But having a man who  _looks_ like he can toss a grown man over his shoulder will still  _always_ be helpful to the delicate-looking young lady who wants to  _dance_ more than she wants to kill.”

“Conceded,” River allowed. “Simon will try to administer smoother.”

“Then I guess he's going to have an unplanned nap today,” Clint retorted.

River smiled. “Thank you Hawkeye.”

Clint took hold of River's chin and made her look him in the eye. “You can  _thank_ me,  _Mei-Mei_ , by giving me the name of the academy that unmade you,” Clint said, softly, seriously.

“It was just 'The Academy',” River answered softly. “Location was Osiris, Captial City, the most challenging programme that was offered in all the Core planets, sponsored by Alliance and Blue Sun.”

“Which are the same things, as we've already discussed,” Clint finished, and sighed in frustration as he released River's chin from his hold. “JARVIS, can you get anywhere with that?” he asked.

“I believe so, Sir,” JARVIS answered. “I will let you know when I have found something.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, and turned back to River. “Alright, let's go put the doc down for his nap.”

River giggled, and followed Clint out of his bunk with a smile on her face.

They found Simon in the dining area, River said her piece very firmly, a little forcefully, but calmly – and Simon pulled out a syringe from his pocket, just as River had said he would. Clint had liberated it, removed the cap, and plunged it into Simon's arm before the boy could even  _finish_ saying “I'm just going to give you a smoother”.

Much to the amusement of Jayne, who was  _also_ in the dining area, having a cup of tea.

“That's just too entertainin',” he commented with a crooked smile and a chuckle. “I hope he _never_ learns,” he added, “just so's I can keep on watchin' you do that to 'im.”

“Doctor winds up in the infirmary more than anybody else on this boat,” Mal noted as he entered the dining area to the sight of Simon passed out on the floor. He just stepped over the boy as he headed for the tea stuffs himself. “I hope you ain't gonna leave him there all untidy like,” he added.

“No Mal,” Clint answered with a chuckle as he re-capped the syringe. “Only _just_ dropped him.”

Mal nodded, and turned to Jayne. “Still funny as hell?” he asked conversationally.

“You bet it is Captain,” Jayne answered happily.

“I just don't get how he still looks so damn Core when all 'cept one outfit he's got now are Rim,” Mal stated softly in confusion. “He even saves his one white shirt for special occasions now, an' only wears his fancy vest on Sund'y's.”

“He's just too clean,” Clint answered as he picked up the – at least temporarily – comatose young doctor. “Face like he's never been sunburned or worked a hard day's labour where the dirt of his work wedged itself permanently in the wrinkles given him by that same work. Not to mention, he looks like he doesn't even _have_ to shave yet to keep his chin smoother than a baby's bum.”

Mal smirked and snorted in amusement. “You  _do_ have a way with words Hawkeye,” he complimented.

“Well, if someone will let me have my way with a tranquilliser and a saw, I'll get to removing all the ivory from our cargo,” Clint offered, and walked out the door with Simon in a fireman's carry over his shoulder.

“Will make the cattle safer,” River offered as she picked out a cup from the cupboard and moved to stand beside Mal, clearly intent on a cup of tea herself. “No horns means they cannot cause as much injury if they panic. Can also sell horns separately for extra coin, at no disadvantage to selling price of the herd.”

Mal and Jayne both visibly thought that over.

“You _got_ a tranquilliser gun, Jayne?” Mal asked, curious.

“Got a saw, interestin'ly 'nough,” Jayne answered. “Don't think I got a tranq-gun though.”

“Hawkeye does,” River supplied as she poured the boiled water into her cup. “He is simply waiting permission.”

Mal nodded. “If he can do it without spookin' the herd an' makin' 'em want to stampede in my hold where there ain't nowhere for 'em to stampede to, then he's welcome to,” Mal decided. “More 'n that, he's welcome to  _keep_ the horns if he's inclined to. Don't hardly need the extra coin sellin' 'em would make us.”

River smiled. “Will tell him,” she promised and very nearly  _skipped_ out of the dining area with her cup of tea in hand, already thinking about the many possible uses for the cattle horns. Delicately carved jewellery, hair ornaments and little statues; hollowed out to be drinking vessels; honed to a sharp blade...

Something to suit  _everybody_ on the ship.

Well, except for Simon. The captain was right. Simon still radiated 'Core', even when forced into Rim styles of clothing, and it was down to his attitude more than anything. The first thing Simon had done when he'd found out that his clothes had all been replaced (after swearing) had been to wash everything – _three_ _times_. Simon was... somewhat phobic about dirt. Blood, he could handle, but not dirt.

Academically, River understood that Simon suffered from a mild neurosis that was part of his upbringing in a standard, sterile world. But River was a genius, and as was the case with  _most_ geniuses throughout history, River  _didn't understand_ how the people she encountered could be so stupid about things that she understood so easily. In this case: Simon was afraid of dirt being a contaminant when blood carried the greater possibility for passing along sickness, and more, Simon feared the contamination of dirt through simple contact. It didn't have to get into his flesh, it merely had to  _touch_ , and touch his clothing, rather than him at that.

No, River didn't understand how she had been cursed with a brother who was so stupid. Quite apart from his thinking she needed him to drug her to try and 'fix' what had been done to her by the Blue Hands. Spending time with Inara, Kaylee and Zoe in Inara's shuttle had been more helpful to 'fixing' her after her time at the Academy than any amount of drugs could have been. Spending time with Clint, who had at least  _some_ level of empathy, was more helpful than Simon always asking her to  _talk_ about what had been done to her.

“He said 'yes',” River chirped happily at Clint – who had been actually been listening from just beyond the door, Simon _still_ over his shoulder.

Clint smirked. “You go get my tranquilliser gun and a saw,” he ordered fondly, “and I'll lock your brother in his bunk in the passenger quarters.”

River threw a cheerful salute, and handed over the tea-cup before she spun on the spot and headed back through the dining area towards Clint's bunk.

~oOo~

“This is lookin' almost disturbin' respectable,” Mal commented as he oversaw the herding of the cattle into one of _many_ corrals. There were some empty, others with more herds of cattle, some with sheep or goats. A couple with horses.

“It's the _official_ livestock market of Jianyin and surrounding rocks,” Clint answered. “Some of the animals are here through purely legal routes, others, not so much. Point is, it's an operation that the Feds don't bother with, so we won't be running into any trouble from them. Man who runs the market takes a fee from people who're selling, rental fee for the corral sort of thing, and a portion of that is paid to the local authorities so they'll look the other way to any dealings that may not be _entirely_ above board.”

“Why is there still a cow on the ship?” Zoe asked as she joined them.

“That one's ours,” Clint answered with a smirk. “When you send Kaylee out to buy any parts the ship needs, tell her she doesn't need to buy protein, but she _does_ need to buy us a bigger cold-box.”

Mal blinked in shock. “You're serious?” he asked. “You want us to  _keep_ some of our cargo for our own benefit? Do you  _know_ what Badger will do to us if we can't make the promised fee?”

“Needless worry,” River quipped as she walked past, all done up in her 'Jean Barton' disguise. “We will make _more_ than thirty per head, and Badger will never know the difference. She is going to play with the lambs.”

“If you see anyone with pigs, talk to 'em about buying one?” Clint called after her.

“Will cost,” River pointed out. “She has a greater likelihood of securing pork if she has coin.”

Clint dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “If it costs more than this for a good-sized, healthy animal,” he said sternly as he handed over forty credits, “then you need to learn to haggle better.”

River smiled happily, took the money, and kissed Clint's cheek. “She will have change,” she promised. “May she spend it on herself?” she asked hopefully.

Clint chuckled. “Depends on if there's enough to also buy a  _lamb_ or not,” he answered.

River hugged Clint tightly, and scampered off happily to meet all the animals for sale, and buy at least  _one_ .

“You're serious,” Mal stated, shock and concern vying for dominance in his tone.

“I hate that powdered protein stuff,” Clint answered with a growl. “I will _put off_ having to eat it for as long as I can afford to. Keep an eye out,” he said, “we should be able to find some more work while we're here. Shearing, herding, butchering. Hell, let folks know we've got a real doctor they'll come running.”

“I know they will,” Mal agreed.

“Kaylee will probably be popular too, fixing other people's machines for 'em,” Zoe added.

Clint nodded. “It's all coin. Let the auctioneer deal with selling our beef, that's what he does for his living. We can collect the profits from 'im at the end of the day,” Clint explained, then with a wave, he wandered back into the ship to butcher the animal that was still tied up inside.

“I feel less like the man in charge of my own ship when he does that,” Mal complained lightly to Zoe before Clint was out of hearing range.

He chuckled to himself over that. He should probably apologise to Mal for the insidious take-over, but he was just...  _used_ to this sort of thing. It was how he'd gotten by between leaving the circus and joining the army. It hadn't lasted long. The army life had been more appealing – fighting to defend his country, rather than struggling to make ends meet as he processed cuts of meat he couldn't personally afford to buy. The knowledge he'd gained from that  _month_ of his life had been useful when he was in SHIELD though, of all things. Working with livestock at the various stages wasn't just a  _good_ cover when it had been needed, it had been an  _excellent_ cover, and on more than a few missions.

Hell, it was that month of his life when Clint had learned most of his tinkering skills. Machines that needed maintenance or repair were all over the place around farming sorts of work.

Soon enough, he was the _only_ one in the ship.

It wasn't long before River brought back a pig and a lamb, each one with a red ribbon around their necks to match the one she'd tied in her own hair. A ribbon she hadn't _had_ when she'd left the ship earlier. She also brought news of what everybody else had found to do.

“Have fun today?” Clint asked her as he kept on carving up the bovine carcass that was hanging in the cargo bay. Well, he was carving pieces of it by that time, on a flat surface, much easier. There was still a bit hanging from the hook though.

“She did,” River answered happily. “She will take the cow hide and cure it. Leave the animals to Ronin's mercy.”

“I'm not butchering them with my sword,” Clint pointed out dryly.

River just smiled back, tied up the two animals, and picked up the large roll of skin that Clint had already removed from the cow. “Please do not bloody the ribbons,” she requested as started to assemble a rig for working the hide on closer to the open doors. Curing hides wasn't exactly the most pleasant-smelling of processes. Then again, neither was butchering really.

As they worked, River recited what everybody else was up to. Wash was escorting Kaylee around as they offered mechanical help to anyone that needed it. Zoe went with the doctor – to keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble just as much as to offer what help she could. Jayne had found something of a calling in herding stock once it was sold. The man _did_ enjoy smacking them to get them moving. Mal, bless him, was trying his hand at _competitive_ _milking_ , something that was as much a show of how much milk a cow could produce as it was a race to fill as many buckets as you could as quickly as possible. Inara had found a client for the length of their stay, which was a shame. She would _probably_ have enjoyed laughing at Mal as he tried to milk a cow. The Shepherd, for all that he claimed the title wasn't meant to include the handling of livestock, was shearing sheep.

When Clint finished the the beef, he moved onto the lamb. The lamb, being an adorable little thing, was in desperate danger of being _saved_ from the chopping block if Kaylee came back in time to see it bleating cutely and cavorting around the cargo bay. Also, as it was a small, _light_ animal, it was much easier to butcher than a full-grown cow.

River took the lamb skin from Clint just as she had done the cow hide, and got to work on curing _it_ as well. Then she took the pig skin when he'd strung up the last animal for butchering.

“Will you be alright on your own for a while?” Clint asked River as he headed for his quad-bike. “I want to see if I can find a few things in town.”

“Abattoir supply store has plastic bags for vacuum sealing,” River replied absently. “Third shelf up, back corner. Would have brought some back, but only had enough change from buying pig and lamb to buy ribbons. Vacuum sealer may be converted from air-recycler without additional outlay. She will set it up and fetch your herbs from the kitchen while you are away.”

Clint climbed off the quad-bike again. With a smile, he bent down and kissed River's cheek. “I have the best _Mei-Mei_ in the 'verse,” he said, then climbed back on his quad-bike and gunned it for town.

The plastic bags for vacuum-sealing... well, for vacuum-sealing _anything_ are exactly where River said they would be. A shelf down from the flimsy, not-as-good-but-much-cheaper Blue Sun versions of the same product. Considering the amount of meat he had to seal up, Clint bought the whole lot – the good, more expensive ones, not the Blue Sun ones. While he was there, he also bought a small processor that would let him turn all the bones into powder for stock, or glue, and mince the offal for sausages. A worthwhile investment, in his opinion. Considering the options, leaving nothing to be wasted was really the sensible thing to do.

Anything to avoid powdered protein and the 'A-grade foodstuffs' which were bricks of brown, chewy stuff that were generally unappetising, however much they counted as 'treasure' out on the border planets of the Rim.

“You _are_ the best _Mei-Mei_ in the 'verse,” Clint reiterated when he returned to the ship and River had set everything up as she'd promised.

“Expressions of gratitude will be accepted in the forms of apples and chocolates,” River informed him airily.

Clint chuckled. “How about I take you to a dance?” he suggested.

“Also acceptable,” River answered quickly.

“As soon as I've got everything packed then,” he promised.

River nodded in acceptance and returned to the skins. They would need _time_ to finish curing, nothing to be done about that, but the part of the process that she had any effect on was essentially over. She just had to wrap the skins up now, airtight, let them sit for a while, then wash them, and they'd be done. Ready for whatever use there was for leather or lamb skin.

As she was finished _well_ before Clint, River left to change into something more appropriate for a bit of dancing. Not fancy dancing like Clint had taken Kaylee to, there were no grand balls on Jianyin, but a skirt that would flutter a bit when she twirled.

Clint worked his way methodically through the meat. He smeared some cuts with herb pastes, some with marinades, some he just stuffed a few dry herbs in with before he sealed them up. The beef first, then the pork, then the lamb, but all as quickly as he could. He would have liked to have been able to smoke some of the pork for ham or bacon, but there weren't really the facilities on _Serenity_ to do something like that. He could have pickled meat if he wanted, just put a good bit of salt, vinegar and water in the bag with the meat before he sealed it shut. But there wasn't a lot that beat _bacon_ for a special treat breakfast.

“Wow,” announced Wash from the cargo bay doors.

“Seconded,” Kaylee agreed.

Clint looked up and smiled at them both. “Did you bring back the new, bigger cold-box I asked for?” he queried, even though he could see it piled onto the trailer of _Serenity_ 's ATV behind them.

“Right here,” Kaylee announced, giving the thing a pleased pat.

“Got it cheap because the guy what owned it thought it was _Tian Di Wu Yowng_ ,” Wash added as he climbed off the ATV.

“ _Bie Woo Lohng_ on his part,” Kaylee said with a smile. “This? This is shiny. I'll have it runnin' b'fore you can spit.”

“Shiny,” Clint agreed. “I've just got bones and offal to take care of at this point, then I promised I'd take River dancing. I heard something about a shindig happening outside of the next town. Shouldn't be too long.”

“We'll get the meat in,” Wash answered with a smile.

“You just be sure to take a communicator in case somethin' happens,” Kaylee advised in an expression of genuine concern.

“ _Dang ran_ ,” Clint said easily. He'd take _his_ comm units. Nice little test run. Have JARVIS babbling in one ear about relative position to the ship every five minutes. Low chances of anything untoward happening really made it ideal.

Once the cargo bay was tidy again, Clint went to clean off the blood stains and the small bits of meat that had stuck to him, change, and then he knocked on River's door.

“Dancing?” she asked with a smile on her face when she slid the door open.

“Dancing,” Clint agreed. “Here,” he added, and held up one of the small comm units River had watched him make during the flight from Persephone to Jianyin.

“Just in case of emergencies,” River said as she took it and inserted it into one ear. “Also, test run. JARVIS?”

“You are both linked,” the AI answered, directly into their earpieces rather than the ship's general comms. “And the relative tracking devices in both are also fully functional.”

With that affirmation, Clint and Jean Barton, siblings, exited  _Serenity_ , the stock market, and would have walked completely through town without anybody bothering them – except that Simon and Zoe were on their way back to the ship at the same time and their paths crossed.

“What's going on?” Simon asked, all angry and worried and protective and paranoid at the same time.

“Jean here wanted to dance,” Clint answered, “and I heard some folks talking about there _being_ a dance happening on the other side of town. So, that's where we're off to.”

“Then I'm coming too,” Simon decided. He didn't ask if his company was wanted, or if he was needed back at the ship, just invited himself along.

Clint and River both blatantly rolled their eyes at him.

“See you back at the ship,” River promised Zoe.

Zoe nodded and kept moving.

Clint and River – with the addition now of Simon – continued on to where the dance was supposed to be happening. Where it _was_ happening. Clint and River moved up to stand beside the slightly raised dance floor in the middle of the field and watched the dancers. Watched how they moved, watched the forms and the steps. It wasn't too complex a dance. Simon stayed at the back of the small crowd that was watching the dancers – but he was too busy watching _River_ to pay any attention to the dancing.

Clint smiled, offered River his hand, and the two of them stepped smoothly in with all the other dancers on the floor, on the beat and in just the right place. At which point Simon became _very_ focused on at least _one_ of the dancers.

Still, distance was a slightly mitigating factor, as was frenetic movement, so he didn't see River's ever-so-slight stumble that Clint covered for very well anyway.

“Shepherd Book has been badly injured, shot,” River whispered to Clint, and subtly poked him just below his left shoulder. “It was the buyers that Badger set up.”

“Need to get the doc back then,” Clint whispered back.

River peered over Clint's shoulder, and her eyes widened. “He's about to be kidnapped,” she noted.

Clint forced an exit for them that still looked like part of the dance, but Simon had already been dragged away with a bag over his head.

“JARVIS,” Clint snapped into his comm unit. “The doc's been nabbed. Let the crew know we're tailing him, and help them follow us. Getting the idiot back to the ship might take too long.”

“It is a good thing you decided to add in the relative tracking devices Sir,” JARVIS noted.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed as he and River tore off after the foolish Core boy who didn't even know how to flail about and catch his captors in delicate places.

Clint pulled his side-arm of the day out of the holster at the small of his back and aimed even as he ran. He wasn't going for the kill. Apart from an ill-timed kidnapping, these guys hadn't done much wrong to his knowledge. His bullets caught thighs instead.

“Come on Drake,” River said, using Simon's cover name as she caught her brother by his arm before he could fall from abruptly-altered balance. A certain amount of his weight _had_ been held by his captors while they were dragging him along after all. “The Shepherd's been shot. You're needed back at the ship. You will take care of things here?”

“ _Dang ran_ Jean,” Clint answered, and waved her off while the would-be kidnappers whimpered in pain and clutched at their injured legs.

River nodded and she and Simon hurried – without her having to drag him – back to _Serenity_ as fast as they could.

“Now,” Clint said as he stood over the three _very_ unwashed-looking men he'd injured into immobility. “What have you learned today about kidnapping people?” he asked when he had their attention.

“Our folks needs a doctor,” one of them answered. “Noticed 'im goin' around the main town, helpin' folk out. Didn't come out our way. Lot more folk he didn't see. Kids, some of 'em.”

“And now _you_ need a doctor as well for your efforts,” Clint pointed out, his voice level and controlled. He wasn't a heartless man, and he liked kids well enough. Didn't like to see them suffering any more than anybody else did. But there was a right way and a wrong way to go about getting help. Kidnapping fell under the latter heading.

It would _always_ fall under the latter heading.

“So I ask again,” Clint said, shifting his weapon slightly in his grip so that the three men could see it clearly – and see that he had his finger resting beside the trigger. “What have you _learned_ today about _kidnapping_ people?” he asked dangerously.

“It can get us shot at,” offered another one of the men with a slight whimper.

“An' bein' shot at _hurts_ ,” added the third with a whine.

Clint snorted. “I was being _nice_ ,” he informed them. “It would have been a _lot_ easier to put a bullet through _this_ part of you,” he stated, and tapped himself on the chest over his heart with the tip of his gun. “Legs are a _much_ harder target. Especially when everybody's running. Dig the bullets out, wash 'em, bind 'em, keep your weight off of them for a couple of weeks while they heal and then nothing strenuous for a couple more weeks,” he ordered.  
“Are _you_ a doctor too?” asked the first man, hopefully.

Clint shook his head. “Ex-soldier,” he answered. “I've dug enough bullets out of my own self to know how to deal with that kind of injury,” he told them. Which was true. It wasn't the _whole_ truth, but frankly, he wasn't really interested in giving these guys charity.

They'd kidnapped the useless Core boy, and Clint didn't mind that so much as the timing of it. He was of the opinion that seeing whatever kind of squalor these people lived in would be good for the doc, and this whole episode would be as good an excuse as any to teach the idiot how to defend himself against an attack.

Clint amused himself for a moment with the idea of getting Kaylee or Wash, or both even, to be the aggressor, which would teach _those two_ how to fight in the event it was needed as well.

Still, kids in need of a doctor... He'd see if Mal was interested at all in staying on Jianyin once the doc got Book fixed up. If he was, he'd track these guys down again and drag Simon off to give them a little of the help they needed. If not, well, the lesson regarding kidnapping would be well and truly reinforced.

“Sir,” JARVIS piped up in Clint's ear as he started to walk back to where _Serenity_ was parked. “The captain says that as soon as you and Miss Serra are back at the ship, he wants Wash to take off. They've got the money from selling the herd, and he's unhappy about Shepherd Book having been shot.”

“Gotcha,” Clint answered the AI, and picked up his pace.

He only _just_ beat Inara's shuttle back to the ship, and when she was docked, they were off.

“Why did you come after me?” Simon asked Clint quietly once they'd broken atmo.

“Shepherd was hit,” Clint answered easily.

Simon blinked in disbelief. “ _You_ know how to treat a bullet wound like that one,” he answered. “I know you do, because I only had to do the stitching on Kaylee when _she_ was shot, and frankly I'm fairly sure you could have done that too if I hadn't been there.”

“I could have,” Clint agreed. “Would have made a start on it too, if you'd been slower that day.”

“So... Why did you come after me?” Simon repeated. “You don't even _like_ me.”

“You _do_ have a talent for alienating people,” Clint noted dryly.

“You still haven't answered me,” Simon stated.

Clint sighed heavily, tiredly, and gave the brat his full attention. “Reason one: Shepherd was shot, didn't know how bad but I knew he was shot, and having a _real_ doctor is always going to be a step up from a guy who only has a bit more than field medic training. Reason two: River owed you one for saving her from the Academy, and I _do_ like her, so I was going to help her out.”

Simon swallowed, and nodded in acceptance. His rescue had come _purely_ because the Shepherd needed saving and because Clint would always have River's back. That was it.

“Reason number three,” Clint continued. “You're part of this crew.”

Simon blinked in surprise. “What?”

Clint snorted in contempt. “It may come as a  _shock_ to you,  _Doctor Tam_ , but when you get lumped on a crew, or a team, or a squad, or any time where inter-personal relations in close quarters occurs, there are going to be people who want nothing more than to beat each other up.” Oh, Steve and Tony came to mind. “Doesn't matter. They're on the same team, or squad, or crew. That means they look out for each other when the  _Shi Yan_ is  _Yi Da Tuo Da Bian_ . It's not that I was looking out for  _you_ ,” Clint explained firmly. “It's that I'm looking out for everybody on this ship. So does Mal, so does Zoe, and Kaylee, and Wash, though I expect he gives priority to Zoe, since she's his wife an' all. So does  _everybody_ on this ship look out for  _everybody_ else.  _ Dohn luh mah _ , rich boy?”

Simon opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again without a word when Clint's look hardened, and simply nodded.

“Good,” Clint said firmly, and turned to head up to the dining area. “Oh, and  _ training _ starts tomorrow after breakfast,” he ordered before he headed up the stairs.

“Wait, what? Training?” Simon yelped.

“You didn't even elbow one of your kidnappers in the gut when they were taking you,” Clint answered patiently. “Didn't make a noise. You'd done either of those, you might not have been taken at all in the first place. As such, a  _ Chwen Joo _ is worth more in a tussle than your  _ Pi Gu _ .”

“That's not exactly a nice thing to say,” Zoe commented with a smile from just up the stairs.

“Even if it is true,” Mal quipped from beside her.

“Lessons in how to  _ not _ get kidnapped  _ will _ take place immediately after breakfast,” Clint repeated in such a firm tone as to brook no arguments. He wouldn't have listened to them anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

“We actually have a job where we get to be the good guys?” Clint asked, quietly thrilled that the captain was deviating from less than legal activities. Less than legal activities was part of why Clint had left the circus – and his brother – behind all those many years ago after all. Being the good guys was a good feeling.

“We surely do,” Mal answered, a little proudly. He was as much inclined towards being a hero as he was to thumbing his nose (or flashing his  _ Pi Gu _ ) at the law. “Zoe an' me will ride up front of the cart, posin' as the folks usually make this trip. Jayne in back. Hawkeye, think you can be inconspicuous somewhere nearby?”

“Sure,” Clint answered easily, and left the dining area to confer with JARVIS on the landscape.

It was just  _ so _ damn helpful having the AI linked to the the Alliance's computers through Niska's hardware some days.

“JARVIS needs eyes,” River stated as she climbed down the stairs into his bunk. “Eyes beyond the ship and the Alliance's spies.”

“The Alliance isn't the Big Brother that SHIELD used to be,” JARVIS agreed. “At least, out on the Rim. In the Core, they are very  _ nearly _ as thorough, if a great deal more attentive to make up for the difference.”

“I guess I'm making cameras to go with the comm units then,” Clint noted wryly.

River smiled brightly. “She will help!” she declared happily.

Clint chuckled. “Alright,” he allowed, and started to pull out all the stuff he'd need for making  _ more _ spy-ware for JARVIS to link into.

Three cameras were completed and linked in with JARVIS when Wash announced that they were landing.

“Enough for now,” River decided.

“It's gonna have to be,” Clint countered. “Guess it's one for Mal and Zoe, since they'll be up front, and one for me so JARVIS can get a good lay of the land.”

“Mal and Jayne,” River corrected absently.

“Oh?” Clint asked curiously.

River smiled, giggled, and shook her head. “Would spoil the surprise,” she insisted, and hopped up from their work station to head for the ladder out of Clint's bunk. “Wishes to see for herself, not simply know it is occurring.”

Clint narrowed his eyes as he watched River scurry up and away, then sighed and decided that he supposed  _ he _ had better go and see for himself as well. He picked up the comm units and the spy-cams before he left his bunk though, and (for the first time in  _ far _ too long) pulled out his bow, quiver, and archery gear. The tech would still need to be handed out after all, and there wasn't really much point in going down only to come back for the weapons he'd be using for the job.

The snort of amusement forced its way out before he could even  _ think _ of stifling it.

Mal was wearing a dress. And a large,  _ floral _ , pleated bonnet.

“I take it Zoe objected to wearing the dress?” Clint asked as he fought against laughter.

“I objected to  _ my _ wife pretending to be  _ Mal's _ ,” Wash corrected, though he was also clearly fighting – and losing – against breaking down laughing.

“There  _ was _ also the issue of Zoe's mare's leg bein' pointed at Mal's face when she saw the get up,” Jayne added with a chuckle. He'd apparently watched the whole thing and (apart from the sight of Mal  _ in _ the dress) was the least affected by the sight presented to them in the cargo bay.

“Further discussion deliberated that it would be better tactics to have Zoe in the back,” Mal informed every laughing body, himself not the least put out by his attire.

“Right,” Clint agreed disbelievingly, then shook his head and stepped up. “Here,” he said, as he pinned a micro camera in place on Mal's chest. “With this, and this -” he said as he turned Mal's head to one side so that he could shove in the comm unit. “JARVIS will be able to see what you do and share any pertinent information. I'll be able to contact you from my sniper point on the ridge too.”

“Do we all get those?” Zoe asked.

“Well, I've got enough ear pieces for everybody,” Clint answered. “Only have three total of the cameras though.”

“You'll have one for your lookout point, wherever you set up, an' I'll have one at the front of the cart,” Mal noted, even as he twisted the front of his dress around so that he could see the camera more easily. It was a small thing. Looked like a fastening actually. “Can't see any possible need as regards the third for this job though.”

Clint shrugged and passed the third off to River. She'd made it. She should get to be the one to keep it – and possibly even use it, if she was in the mood to.

“Just leaves me wonderin' what your gear is,” Jayne said, noticing the bow and quiver full of arrows strapped to Clint's back for the first time.

Clint smiled. “You have a favourite gun?” he asked.

Jayne nodded. “Course I do.”

“This is  _ my _ favourite weapon,” Clint explained.

“That's... uh...” Mal offered, but faltered before he could really figure out what to actually  _ say _ about the weapon.

“That's an  _ antique _ ,” Jayne stated. “Ain't nobody uses anythin' like that these days that I've seen.”

Clint smirked, then whipped the bow off his back and brought the draw up to the corner of his mouth. “I've been usin' one of these since I was younger than River,” Clint said, then eased off the tension. “It's not just my favourite, it's my preference. Concealed weapons seem to be the thing on jobs these days though, so there's not much call. You're asking me to snipe though, so,” he explained, then just smiled rather than say anything else.

“Can I try that?” Kaylee asked tentatively.

Clint shook his head. “You'd never be able to draw it,” he informed her, but held it out for her to try anyway.

She couldn't pull it an inch, and shook her hand when she let go of the string. “Really cuts in,” she noted as she handed it back.

Jayne held out his hand to try next.

Clint rolled his eyes, but handed it over.

Jayne managed to pull the string back a couple of inches, but ultimately couldn't draw it either, and he was  _ considerably _ more muscled than little Kaylee. The man frowned in confusion as he looked it. “How in the hell..?” he asked softly. “I do weights all the time, why couldn't I get  _ that _ ?”

“Because it's not about weight,” Clint answered as he took back his weapon. “It's about resistance, technique, and practice.”

“Whatever, let's all just get in place for this job,” Mal decided. He  _ wasn't _ going to try and draw the bow. He was wearing a dress already, he had no desire to make himself look more the fool than he already did.

Clint rode his quad-bike on ahead of the horse-and-cart rig that Mal, Jayne and Zoe were taking, found his spot, and settled down to wait. When the targets rode up, he got the pleasure of hearing JARVIS inform him that one of these thugs had relatives in high places. The leader, in fact. He was some prefect's nephew.

And Mal was swearing “by his pretty floral bonnet” to end him if his hand went for his gun.

Clint selected one of his  _ special _ arrowheads and sent it flying an instant before the guy yelled for his gang to gun everybody down. His arrow caught the creep in the back at the same time as Zoe leaned out of the cart and shot the nearest to her of the gang – a good general sign for Mal and Jayne to open fire as well.

None of the gang got away. One tried. Clint put an arrow through his neck before he got too far – and that was going to be a nuisance to retrieve and clean ready for use again.

Clint packed up and started the quad-bike up again.

Down in the middle of the river where the shoot-out had taken place, Clint reclaimed his arrows and helped haul the bodies into the back of the cart.

“Why's there a funny what's-it on the end of that one?” Jayne asked when he saw Clint pull his  _ special _ arrow out of the prefect's misbehaving nephew.

“Drugged,” Clint answered shortly. “When he wakes up, he won't have a clue who he is, or how he got to be wherever we're gonna leave him, or anything else. Definitely won't be able to identify us if he's asked to.”

“Buy why not just make him dead?” Jayne pressed, confused.

“JARVIS identified him as having family in high places,” Clint explained. “Making people dead when they have family in high places isn't exactly a good idea.”

“You killed Atherton Wing,” Mal pointed out as they got moving again.

“That was a duel,” Clint said. “A death was expected. Man didn't have any  _ family _ anyway. He'd already killed his own father in a duel for control of the family business.”

Mal grimaced. “Knew I didn't like that guy,” he commented lowly.

It was quite the party back at the village when they – and the rest of the crew as well – arrived with the news that the bandits wouldn't be a problem again in a hurry. River had put on her Jean Barton face and was dancing around the fire. Mal was out of the dress and talking with Inara as they took in the atmosphere. Wash and Zoe were curled up together doing the same. Shepherd Book was giving last rights to the men who'd died that day while Simon had been drawn from tending to the  _ one _ who had been permitted to live into the dancing by Kaylee. Jayne was drunk already.

And Loki was walking up to Clint.

“I'm not bleeding,” Clint informed him. “So what are you doing here  _ this _ time?”

Loki sighed, and glanced significantly at the empty space on the log that Clint was sitting on.

Clint shuffled a little to the right, silently indicating that, yes, Loki  _ was _ welcome to sit there, for a limited extent of 'welcome'.

Loki took the hint with speed and grace. “I have been several centuries without your company,” he said softly. “I... kept track of what became of the Avengers in your absence, if you want to know,” he offered.

Clint sighed, and shrugged. “Some of it was public record, so JARVIS could find it when he hooked up to the cortex. Some things weren't there of course, and I admit I haven't actually looked into it much yet. Did Bruce ever find a proper cure? Or did he Hulk Out even when he got old?” he asked.

“It might interest you to know that even old and grey, the Hulk was still an incredible force on Midgard,” Loki answered. “He gave up trying to find a cure less than a decade after I brought you here.”

“I do feel sorry for the guy a bit,” Clint said. “He never asked for that.”

“No, he didn't,” Loki agreed. “But he celebrates now in the halls of Valhalla with all his comrades, and wants for nothing.”

Clint chuckled at the mental image of Bruce Banner letting go and being a party animal. Guy had always been so quiet, keeping a lid on the Hulk and everybody at arm's distance so they couldn't set him off.

“Well, all his comrades but one,” Loki corrected.

“Me,” Clint stated.

“You,” Loki agreed. “I'm surprised you didn't ask about Agent Romanoff first,” he hedged. “The two of you  _ were _ very close in SHIELD. I believe you were partners?”

Clint shrugged. “Only in the professional sense when you came along, if that's what you're getting at. Natasha stayed in SHIELD. I know what that life is like. Don't really expect anything much changed unless she managed to live long enough to be resigned to a desk.”

“Not something many SHIELD agents achieved,” Loki stated softly.

Clint nodded.

“She actually  _ did _ die in battle,” Loki said. “But... not on a mission.”

Clint pinned Loki with a hard look. Since the Asgardian was seated next to him, not across from him, Clint hadn't been able to keep  _ all _ of Loki in view at once just in case he tried something – though after the admission from his  _ last _ visit of having  _ lived _ through the intervening years and having been made one of Thor's advisors... Well, like he'd told Mal, Loki was bent on proving that he was someone that at least  _ Clint _ could trust, which meant being on  _ better _ than his  _ best _ behaviour.

“She died protecting her son,” Loki supplied quickly.

Clint nearly choked on his own spit.

Natasha had a kid? Well, that's what he got for not asking JARVIS about those clippings from the personals section that he'd mentioned.

“She married the man out of time,” Loki offered. “I will never understand what she saw in him.”

Clint tried to assemble that picture in his head. Natasha had married  _ Steve Rogers _ ? Some political science major would probably have given their liver to be allowed to write a paper on that. He wasn't even going to  _ try _ and figure out how it happened. It wasn't worth the headache it would give him.

“Do you think the captain  _ knows _ that he is being treated as a groom in a marriage ceremony?” Loki asked absently.

“Man isn't the marrying kind,” Clint answered and looked around for the man. “Though he is fairly stuck on Inara. Is she the one he's marrying?”

“Is Inara blonde?” Loki countered easily. “Would you like me to interrupt before he is declared wed?”

“Please do,” Clint replied. “We've got a delicate enough balance as it is with  _ four _ women on the ship. Adding a stranger as the captain's new wife into the mix would be a  _ very _ bad idea.”

Loki flicked his hand towards Mal, and the man passed out before he could finish raising the cup to his lips. It made a bit of a mess, the wine being spilled on his shirt and all, but it was really the easiest way to interrupt the marriage. Subtly. It wouldn't have gone over well for the cup to suddenly be full of thin little snakes after all. A man passing out after a full day and a lot of alcohol was  _ much _ more believable.

Clint chuckled. He hadn't meant to. But the way Mal looked so  _ content _ as he slumped onto Jayne's shoulder, and then the way  _ Jayne _ had happily taken Mal's floral wreath and shoved it onto his  _ own _ head... Clint looked down to check – yep. He was still wearing the spy-cam that fed to JARVIS.

“Save that footage please JARVIS,” Clint said with a smile. “That's going to be worth a few laughs in the morning.”

“Certainly Sir,” answered the AI's digital tones into Clint's ear piece.

“And look up the marriage ceremony Mal almost got suckered into,” Clint requested.

“No need,” Loki offered. “It's very simple. The bride gives the groom a crown of flowers,” he said, and conjured one such crown, though it was more elaborate than the wreath Jayne had stolen from Mal. “To represent his sovereignty over her. She presents him with a cup of wine, which he must drain, the idea being that she will be the keeper of his table and make sure that he always has good food to eat,” Loki continued, and even conjured a goblet of wine, which he set to hovering next to the floral crown he'd conjured already. “After that, they dance, holding hands the hole time to show their joy in their togetherness.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at Loki. “And you know the marriage ceremony of these people... how?” he asked. “Look it up anyway JARVIS.”

“Yes Sir.”

Loki shrugged. “It is much the same on Asgard,” he answered. “For the simpler weddings,” he amended quickly. “The higher in the echelon the bride or groom is, the more complex it becomes, vows may be added, more symbolism entwined and so on. All the same, even Thor's wedding to Jane Foster had those three elements in it. The flowers were... very becoming... on my brother's brow.”

Clint snorted and shook his head, an amused and vaguely disbelieving smile on his face, at the very  _ idea _ of Thor wearing a crown of flowers.

Loki gestured over the wreath he'd conjured, and it vanished again.

“Would you like it?” Loki offered, gesturing to the still-floating goblet of wine he'd conjured.

“Thank you, but I think I'll stick with water tonight,” Clint answered. “I think everyone else here is getting drunk  _ enough _ .”

“Your 'little sister' excepted,” Loki noted carefully.

Clint nodded. “She's smart enough to not let herself become intoxicated around strangers, however well-meaning and kindly-disposed they currently are towards us, though I think if Book hadn't headed back to the ship about the time you showed up, he'd keep away from the drink too. Vows against it or something most likely,” he said. Then he straightened when he noticed something  _ interesting _ . “Isn't that the  _ same _ girl was trying to marry the captain that's trying to marry  _ Jayne _ now?”

Loki followed Clint's gaze even as he sipped from his goblet. “Yes,” he agreed. “Though the man looks like he'll pass out on his  _ own _ before the ceremony would be complete, without any help from me.”

And true to his word, Jayne passed out  _ while _ he was drinking the wine he'd been offered. He clearly hadn't finished it either, as a good portion of it splashed on the ground when he toppled.

“That's a shame,” Clint joked. “Jayne would have  _ appreciated _ having a pretty little wife. Not sure he'd have appreciated being the second pick, but he's not going to wake up for hours now.”

“I could remedy that,” Loki offered.

Clint shook his head. “I'm actually curious to see if she'll move onto me or the doc next, or try her luck getting past Zoe to Wash,” he answered.

“If she tries to wed you...” he began dangerously.

Clint shook his head again. “I'll send her on her way myself,” Clint said dryly.

The girl  _ did _ approach them, and  _ did _ smile cheerfully – as though putting on floral hats was just something done at parties – as she went to place a wreath of flowers on Clint's head.

He promptly started sneezing and pushed the flowers away.

“They're real pretty,” he told her, “but I think they're a bit too freshly picked for my allergies,” he finished.

The girl then immediately turned to Loki with the wreath, a hopeful smile on her face.

Loki ignored her, giving Clint his full attention and concern.

“Do you want to go back to the ship? Should I fetch Jean? She'll want to know if your allergies are acting up,” he asked, concerned, and absently batted away the wreath. “Or perhaps the doctor?”

“Doctor's too drunk to be any good,” Clint answered thickly. “An' don' bother Jean. She's havin' too much fun. Go on girl,” he said, waving the girl away. “Give your flowers to someone who will appreciate them more.”

She smiled shyly and disappeared back into the crowd.

“You can stop fussing,” Clint told Loki, all traces of his apparent allergy to the flowers gone.

Loki blinked. “I am impressed,” he said. “You are a truly masterful actor, Clint.”

“Another reason why SHIELD didn't trust me after I'd been compromised,” Clint answered unhappily, then sighed. “Doesn't matter. I'm here now. SHIELD doesn't even exist any more.”

“No,” Loki agreed softly. “No, it doesn't. The Alliance has agents and operatives to do its delicate dirty work, but no. SHIELD doesn't exist any more.”

“She's  _ actually _ trying for Wash, with Zoe  _ right there _ in his arms,” Clint noted incredulously a few moments later.

Wash, when the flowers were put on his head, promptly removed them and set them on Zoe's instead, and kissed her.

The girl moved on, and finally reached the doctor, a new wreath in her hands and cup of wine ready for offering.

“It's getting rather ridiculous,” Loki observed dryly.

“Agreed. What could she possibly be up to?”

“Possibly she is to be given in lieu of regular payment,” Loki suggested. “Humanity suffered a rather serious backslide in social progress between your time and now.”

“Possible,” Clint agreed. “But considering she's tried to marry  _ every _ man from the crew who's here? I'm inclined to believe there's more to it than that. Frankly, I'm not sure I actually care enough to ask you to stop the boy from marrying her.”

Loki chuckled. “But if he marries her, you'll still have the issue of another woman on the ship,” he pointed out.

Clint shrugged. “The doc's skill for alienating people is legendary,” he stated. “It won't be anything  _ near _ the trouble it would have been if she'd married Mal.”

Loki thought about that silently for a moment. “If I help carry those two back to the ship,” he said with a gesture towards the sleeping forms of Mal and Jayne, “may I stay to watch the fallout in the morning?” he requested.

Clint eyed Loki narrowly.

~oOo~

Clint helped the locals pile up what produce they were handing over in lieu of cashy money – though they had given Mal some of that as well – and then settled himself up high on one of the walkways over looking the cargo bay as soon as Wash headed for the bridge.

River sat down on his left. Loki sat down on his right.

Loki had not been permitted to _stay_ , as such. Clint had agreed to let Loki watch the anticipated fallout of Simon (and everybody else) finding out that the young doctor had a _wife_ , but Loki had been required to return to Asgard between times. Clint wouldn't have been able to sleep, knowing that Loki was somewhere on the ship. He wasn't ready to trust Loki _that_ far yet after all.

Simon was one of the last _in_ the cargo bay with Mal, making sure that everything was secure, when he found the girl – and jumped back in shock, a _very_ manly scream escaping him.

“What are you doing back there?” Mal demanded, and strode over. “The hell? Where'd this girl come from?”

“I have _no_ idea,” Simon answered.

“Doctor Mallard,” the girl said, her eyes all innocent, and Clint could only be a _little_ pleased that the doc had been smart enough to give her his _cover_ rather than his _real_ name. “Don't you remember?” she asked nervously, all manner of shyness just radiating from her. “I am to cleave to you.”

“What?” Simon and Mal both asked at the same time.

“Doctor Mallard... I'm your wife.”

Now, from the angle they were at, they couldn't see Simon's face, but Clint imagined it was that same constipated of the brain and/or sinuses expression that he'd worn back when he'd joined the ship. They _did_ see Mal's smile as he headed for the ship-wide comms though.

“All personnel please report to the cargo bay,” he summoned. “And by that I mean _all_.”

“What?!” Simon yelped.

Clint, Loki and River all grinned as they got to their feet and headed down.

“We can hardly keep tidings like these to ourselves,” Mal reprimanded Simon with jocularity as people flooded in from different directions and congregated around Simon, Mal, and the young woman.

“Who's the new recruit?” Book asked when he spotted her.

“Everybody,” Mal said, and the smile of a cheeky boy somehow looked _right_ on his grown-man's face just then, “I want you to meet,” and he paused dramatically, “ _Mrs Mallard_.”

Simon spluttered, but couldn't seem to form a fully articulate response to that declaration.

Time enough for everybody to connect the 'married female' prefix to the doc's cover name.

Kaylee's eyes got wide, and of course she was smiling. “You got married?” she asked, all atwitter over the idea of another _couple_ on the ship.

“Which is why I called y'all down here to congratulate the good doctor on this, his day of bliss,” Mal proclaimed happily.

“There's no bliss!” Simon finally managed to object. “I don't even _know_ her!”

“Then can I know her?” Jayne asked with a smirk.

“Jayne!” Zoe scolded, desperately trying to keep a straight face. “Don't _sully_ this!” She failed.

“We always hoped you two kids would get together,” Wash added, his face straight probably only through virtue of having more practice at making his wife laugh without cracking up himself. Then he turned to his wife and stage-whispered. “Who is she again?”

“No one!” Simon blurted thoughtlessly.

The girl burst into tears. Or at least, she started sobbing loudly into her hands, which covered her face so that whether she was _actually_ crying or not couldn't be _seen_.

“Oh, sweetie,” Kaylee said, and gently wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders. “Don't you mind the doctor. We've all said it to him at some point before, his skill for alienatin' people's damn near legendary. He just can't help it.”

“Shepherd Book hasn't ever told me that,” Simon objected weakly.

“Yet. An' Shepherd's too nice to be pointin' out all your flaws to you,” Mal returned, still enjoying this _far_ more than he really needed to.

“Can... can we turn around and take her back?” Simon asked, a little desperately. “There's got to be some kind of misunderstanding.”

“Nope,” answered Wash.

Clint simultaneously chimed in with an “Afraid not,” though he didn't look apologetic at all.

“No,” Loki answered at the same time.

“When did he get here?” Mal asked, nodding his head at Loki.

“Oh, I arrived last night,” Loki answered for himself. “Barton insisted I was not permitted to stay the night, but I was allowed to visit him again in the morning.”

“Why can't we go back?” Simon wanted to know.

“Alliance set down not long after we left atmo,” Wash answered. “One of the bandit's was a prefect's nephew, and they're a bit keen to find out who scrambled his brain so thoroughly he doesn't even know his own name.”

Clint smiled proudly.

“So unless you feel like getting picked up, we're holding course,” Wash finished.

Simon wilted where he stood.

“It's not a misunderstanding either,” Clint added. “As such,” he added, proud smile morphing into a smirk of one who gets the joke. Or perhaps _played_ the joke.

“What are you getting at, Mr Barton?” Shepherd Book asked curiously.

“I mean that the good doctor _did_ get married last night,” Clint explained easily, grinning like the cat that not only got the cream, but the canary as well.

Simon raised a hand to his head as though _holding_ it would help him shake loose a memory. “How drunk _was_ I last night?” he asked no one in particular.

“The ceremony is very simple, but binding,” Loki expounded, and explained the ceremony to the whole crew as he had to Clint the previous night. As well as that it was on the cortex as _the_ marriage custom of Triumph (the moon they'd just left), according to JARVIS, so they could look it up for themselves later if they wanted to.

“Yes,” Shepherd Book agreed. “I do recall reading of such a marriage ceremony before.”

Mal frowned. “Wait, I seem to remember a pretty girl givin' _me_ a hat made out of tree last night...”

“Just before you passed out,” Jayne affirmed. “I got me one too,” he added.

“Even _I_ got one,” Wash added, “though I gave it to Zoe almost as soon as it was on my head.”

“What about you, Clint?” Kaylee asked.

“Oh this pretty little girl approached me as well,” he answered her with an easy nod. “Even Loki got offered the flowery hat. He'd already explained to me by then what the deal was with floral wreaths though, and besides they made me sneeze.” Then he turned to the girl. “Didn't they?” he asked her pointedly.

She pressed her lips tightly together when everybody gave her their full attention, but nodded obediently.

“Because we could not pay with coin or livestock the full price of your gracious service to us, I was to be given as a wife,” she explained. “Captain Reynolds passed out from drink before the second part of the ceremony...”

“And Jayne while he was drinking the wine,” Clint added. “Loki and I waved you off, as already stated, then you tried for Wash, who is _already_ _happily married_ , but owing to that fact ignored you beyond moving the ceremonial crown from his head to Zoe's, as already explained. You were running out of men to try and wed,” Clint said pointedly.

The girl was focused on her toes, but nodded again.

“And then you approached the doctor,” Loki finished.

Clint rested an elbow on Simon's shoulder in a friendly sort of way. “How does it feel? Being _sixth_ choice for husband?” Clint asked Simon conversationally, smirking in the boy's face.

“I'm still dealing with being married at all,” Simon answered flatly.

“No humour,” Clint complained quietly to River as he abandoned her brother to drape his arm around _her_ shoulders instead.

“Are you going to kill me?” the girl asked softly.

“God, honey, no!” Kaylee yelped. “Where'd you even get that kind of idea?”

“I heard stories, in the Maiden House, about men who weren't pleased with their brides,” she answered tentatively, as though she didn't understand why _they_ were so shocked by this.

“Well, fairly sure you don't have to worry about that from the doctor,” Mal offered genuinely, even patting her shoulder in an offer of comfort. “Man's more the damsel in distress type.”

“Hey!” Simon objected, more forcefully to _that_ than anything else yet said. It seemed he was starting to get his bearings at last.

“You _still_ can't free yourself from _Kaylee_ when I have you two for self-defence lessons,” Clint pointed out dryly. “Though you at least know how to _hold_ a gun now, even if you still haven't a clue about aiming it and still have yet to pull the damn trigger.”

“That's all kinds of pathetic,” Jayne said, and shook his head in disappointment at the kid.

“There is, however, _one_ thing I do _not_ recall seeing occur last night,” Loki offered. “Isn't it tradition for the bride and groom to _kiss_?”

“It's also generally tradition for the groom to know his bride's _name_!” Simon objected.

“Saffron,” the girl supplied quickly. “My name is Saffron.”

Kaylee smiled at her and gave her shoulders a friendly squeeze.

“Maybe bein' married will be good for you an' your stress levels,” Mal offered seriously. “We'll have a couple of rules for the missus though,” he added, directing his attention to Saffron. “You're not to be on the bridge at all while we're flyin'. That's crew only, and you ain't, even if you married a man who is. Engine room is off limits as well, that's Kaylee's domain an' the rest of us defer to her regardin' the running of it. Apart from that, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't be down _here_ without someone else here to keep an eye on you. Just in case somethin' gets loose an' falls on ya, kind of thing,” he explained.

“Now go on and give your lady a kiss,” Wash instructed, and gave Simon a friendly sort of shove so that he was stood a little closer to Saffron. “We've been assured your marriage is above board and all.”

“Do I shame you?” Saffron asked a little fearfully.

“You don't...” Simon started, then bit his words off and finished in a different way than he'd probably intended to initially. “... even know me.”

“Great many people get married without ever having met their spouse-to-be,” Clint noted absently, “or used to, back on Earth-That-Was. Arranged marriages. Didn't mean they didn't go on to live happily married lives.” He paused thoughtfully. “With babies who grew up to be teenagers and their own people who they then sent off into arranged marriages and everything,” he added.

There were _many_ hastily stifled smiles.

“Children?” Simon said weakly.

“Man looks about ready to pass out,” Jayne noted. “Better kiss the missus before that happens,” he said firmly, and took Simon by the shoulders to plant him properly in front of Saffron. “I'd say the poor girl's been passed out on enough already.”

“Aw,” Kaylee cooed. “You have a _heart_ under all that muscle and gun oil Jayne. Though you _could_ have said that nicer,” she added wryly.

Jayne shrugged uncomfortably. “Well,” he hedged, and said nothing further.

“We won't tell,” River promised with a smile, even as she drew an 'X' over her chest. “ _Jah Yoh_ Doctor!” she cheered.

Simon, poor unfortunate soul, couldn't deny his _sister_ the way he could have the rest of the crew, and finally pressed his lips to Saffron's.

“ _Gohn Shi_ , the both of you,” Shepherd Book offered as they kissed.

Then Simon fell over.

“Shock finally setting in?” Mal guessed.

“ _Tian Di Wu Yowng_ ,” Kaylee said with a chuckle, and shook her head at the _less_ than conscious Core boy.

River bent down to examine him. “ _Guay Toh Guay Nown_ ,” she hissed suddenly and looked up to pin Saffron in place with a glare.

“Captain?” JARVIS called politely. “I have been scanning the footage Mr – and Miss – Barton provided to me from last night's festivities, and I regret to inform you that the young lady who married the good doctor appears to be a bigamist.”

Jayne's expression bunched up in that slightly confused, hard-thinking expression of his. “Ain't that where a person's married to more'n one person?” he asked.

“Indeed,” JARVIS confirmed. “Her first husband is called Durran Haymer,” the AI continued, “and _her_ registered name is Yolanda Haymer.”

“Anything else you can find?” Mal asked, not taking his eyes off of 'Saffron' now, who was frozen in place but looked ready to bolt.

“Mr Haymer has a rather sizeable reward posted for her safe and whole return to him,” JARVIS offered speculatively. “Then again, he owns his own floating estate on Bellerophon, and has a fascination for collecting Earth-That-Was antique weaponry, pays well for them too.”

“I'm not selling any of my weapons,” Clint said shortly. “I don't care if he's prepared to pay me enough to buy my own Alliance cruiser, fully staffed, for _one_ of them.”

“Not even your spare uzi?” River asked.

Clint thought about that. “Maybe,” he allowed. “But an uzi is a good all-around gun.”

“Your P30?” River pressed.

“No,” Clint answered with a shake of his head. “You know perfectly well -”

“It is your general side-arm,” River agreed with a smile. “She knows. Teasing.”

“Well,” Mal mused, “Bellerophon isn't exactly our sort of place to be hovering... but it sounds like the sort of place Inara could get some respectable work, an' we'd be doin' a good deed of returnin' a man's wife to him.”

Saffron, Yolanda, whatever her name was, promptly tried to run for it.

Loki appeared in front of her and caught her firmly. With a little magic, he sent her to sleep and set her gently down on the floor.

“What did you do to 'er?” Zoe asked, her tone one of fairly neutral curiosity.

“Just made her sleep,” Loki answered as he straightened. “She won't wake for a few hours.”

“That's fine,” Mal allowed. “Question is, what do we do with her until we're anywhere near Bellerophon to give the man a wave and return her to him?”

“I could keep her in this state for the duration,” Loki offered.

“What about her needing to eat?” Clint asked lowly.

Loki shook his head. “In  _exactly_ this state for the duration.”

“Stasis,” Clint concluded. “Like what happened with Rogers, but without the serum, the ice, or for as long.”

Loki nodded.

“Haven't we still got the cryo-box that River showed up in?” Mal asked, talk of ice and serums reminding him of the cold box that the girl had popped out of that day.

“Thinks so,” Jayne answered, and backed off to check. “Yep!” he called. “Right here!”

“Then _that_ would probably be the thing to do,” Mal decided with a firm nod. “River, you're a genius. You know how to put someone in one of those?”

River blinked up at him. “Not hard,” she answered. “Will require aid to lift the  _Yao Nu_ into the crate, but she can do the programming on her own.”

“She gotta be naked?” Jayne asked hopefully.

“Jayne,” Zoe said firmly. “Out.”

Jayne grumbled, but obeyed. “I was gettin' thirsty from all this jawin' any how,” he said as he stomped off towards the kitchen.

“Think maybe all us men folk should be followin' that same idea,” Mal decided. “River, you're in charge of stowin' her, what with bein' the one knows best how the box you're puttin' her in works. Clint? You feel like helpin' me get the doc to the infirmary?”

“Sure,” Clint agreed, and bent to grab Simon's wrists while Mal took his ankles. Neither of them were particularly worried about being gentle with the kid. “Loki, show's over.”

The Asgardian sighed sadly. “Then I suppose I have outstayed my welcome,” he said softly, and with one last, longing look at Clint, he vanished.

With his disappearance, all those still present not _female_ cleared out to leave the task of setting their stow-away into cryo. A task that, yes, involved stripping the woman of her clothes.


	9. Chapter 9

“A place where they don't allow guns?” Clint parroted back at the captain when he was informed of the job they'd got.

“Canton,” Mal agreed with a nod. “Should be all nice an' safe. Easy job.”

“I was on Canton a couple years ago,” Jayne said worriedly from his place at the dining table. “I... _may_ have made me a few enemies there.”

“Stay on the ship,” Clint suggested with a shrug. “I'll haul your load this once if you're worried about it.”

Jayne nodded. “Appreciated,” he muttered back.

Clint turned his attention back to Mal. “The place really has a no gun policy?” he asked again.

“Really,” Mal agreed.

Clint pursed his lips in thought. “Bow and quiver would probably be a bit too provocative to walk in wearing,” he mused, “even if it's not a gun. Guess I'm going with knives then.”

“What?” Mal asked sharply, confused.

Clint raised an eyebrow at his captain. “Are all the people on this rock happy with their situations?” he asked.

Mal shrugged.

“That's a negative, Sir,” JARVIS supplied. “Poor living conditions, heavy taxes. The usual. They make do however, and seem to enjoy themselves despite their situations.”

Clint nodded. “Thanks JARVIS,” he said in the direction of the comm system that JARVIS spoke and listened though, then looked back at Mal. “So the person in charge of collecting taxes _probably_ has some kind of arms or munitions to keep the unhappy masses in check.”

Mal was silent a moment, a blank, thoughtful look on his face before he frowned and turned to leave the dining area. Mumbling about how he just wanted things to go smooth.

Clint chuckled at his back, picked up his mug of tea, and waved himself off as he left the dining area (and Jayne) as well.

“JARVIS, pull up everything you can on Canton for me please?” Clint called as he climbed down into his bunk.

“Asked already,” River informed him, smiling from where she was sitting on his bed. “Sorted, cued up.” Then she frowned. “Understanding of psychology is unhelpful.”

Clint chuckled once he got over the very slight shock of seeing River in his room. He was starting to get used to the girl showing up wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted – and that where she wanted to be was _his_ room, as often as not. Certainly she kept company with others aboard the ship, but Clint was more of a big brother to her than Simon was these days.

“The human condition is bugging you again?” he asked as he sat down on a chair and turned his attention to the computer screen, starting to read what JARVIS had found even though he was still listening to her.

“People of Canton have proven ability to get what they want from their overlord, but applied their strength to a poor cause,” River stated. “Have made no efforts to improve their conditions.”

“Let me guess. You want to go down there yourself and slap some sense into them?” Clint suggested as he scrolled through the text on the screen.

“Affirmative,” River agreed, then sighed unhappily. “Will not be permitted to go.”

“Asked, have you?” Clint quipped absently.

“Don't need to,” River answered. “Simon is very good at objecting. Objects long, loud, from very close range. Captain prefers to avoid having anybody invading his personal space.”

Clint smirked. “But he doesn't mind invading the personal space of others,” he pointed out. “You tell him you want to be useful on a job, he won't say no. Canton is apparently a safe place for you to start learning how jobs go, so Simon won't be able to object to much. Then it's the usual dirt-side drill.”

“Jean Barton,” River agreed with a nod. She rose from the bed, kissed Clint's cheek, then scurried up the ladder with grace that shouldn't be _possible_ – climbing ladders wasn't something Clint had ever associated with grace after all – to find Mal and ask to come along on the job.

When _Serenity_ set down, River was part of the group going ashore, while Simon (with his famous ability at alienating people) was ordered to remain behind. Not that he seemed to mind much. The first words out of his mouth upon seeing Canton was to express the sentiment that the place stank.

“Why it's a good drop point,” Mal informed the very clean doctor with a tight smile. “No one comes here they don't have to.”

“I vote we do this job really really fast,” Wash piped up.

“Kessler's our man,” Mal said, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. “He's holding the goods we're to deliver. We go in, make contact, easy peasy. Zoe, you're holding down the fort with Jayne, you're in charge of course. Call ahead to Bernoulli, let him know he'll have his merchandise by the end of the week.”

“Don't _I_ usually stay with the ship?” Wash asked.

“I outrank you,” Zoe informed her husband with a smile as she kissed his cheek. “Have fun.”

“Why does Jayne get to stay behind too?” Wash pressed.

“I'm a known face around here to people as I'd rather not have my face known to,” Jayne answered for himself. “Could be disruptin' of business.”

“So this is the place where they make... _mud_ ,” Simon said, addressing his comment to Kaylee as he looked around at the planet they'd landed on.

“Yep,” she answered. “Clay, really,” she corrected. “You'd be surprised how many things it ends up in. _Serenity'_ s got more'n a few ceramic parts in 'er.”

“Really? Huh...” Simon was still clearly overwhelmed by the smell and _under_ whelmed by the view.

“Lot of medical procedures use ceramics too,” Clint threw in. “It's _the_ construction material that nearly every culture had. Anywhere there was dirt, there could be mud, and with a bit of work it became clay, which could be used for just about anything they needed.”

“Really?” Simon asked again.

“Drooling child,” River quipped, rolling her eyes. “Basic knowledge. Dirt-phobe simply refused to learn.”

“Dirt-phobe?” Kaylee repeated with a sly smile. “Explains more'n it doesn't.”

“Let's get movin',” Mal ordered. “Hawkeye, you'll be doin' your rich-people impression if you don't mind.”

“Already armed with my little money bag and everything just in case you asked,” Clint confirmed, and took the lead towards where the locals were working.

River slipped up to walk by his side, and Clint casually slid an arm around her back to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Area's employees only!” a big man called out at them when they got close enough that he spotted them. “You need to get back to the landing area unless you have business here.”

Clint smiled his best winning smile. “I've got business here,” Clint answered him. “I'm looking to diversify my business, which means I need some samples to work with in the initial testing phase, and my little sister here is interested in trying her hand at sculpture.”

River smiled up at the foreman then, a bashful little Core Girl smile. “Mother won't let me work with wood or metal though, insists the tools would ruin my hands,” she supplied, and held up her soft, soft hands with just a few early signs of tiny callouses from when she'd worked with Clint on tech.

The foreman nodded. “Well, you won't find better or cheaper than here in Canton. All the workers are indentured an' we pay 'em a pittance, so the savings pass on straight to you.”

Clint smiled a little tightly. “Mm,” he hummed non-committally. “It appears I haven't the best timing though,” he commented. “You have workers to supervise, after all. Perhaps I could show my _Mei-Mei_ how the indentured live until you have more time to discuss such things? And I'm sure my ship's crew would prefer to drink with the workers than listen to business talks.”

The foreman nodded in agreement. “Alright,” he agreed, and they made a time to have a proper meeting to discuss clay types and sales prices.

“You do that very well,” Wash noted with quiet admiration as their little group headed off towards the town where the labourers lived. “You too Jean,” he added. “I really wasn't expecting that.”

River smiled. “Genius,” she reminded him coyly.

“Of course!” Wash scolded himself.

Then they saw the statue.

“I shoulda made Jayne come along so's he could explain this to us,” Mal said softly.

Clint reached up to his ear. “JARVIS,” he called softly. “You getting this visual?”

“Yes Sir,” JARVIS answered into Clint's earpiece. “Would you like me to relay its presence to Mr Cobb?”

“Yeah,” Clint decided slowly. “See if he can explain it.”

“They really captured him,” Wash commented while they waited for a response from Jayne. “His essence.”

“He looks angry to me,” Kaylee said.

“That's what I meant,” Wash answered.

Kaylee took a cautious step to the side. “Wherever I go, he's still lookin' at me,” she revealed.

“Nice joke guys,” Jayne's voice called over the comms. “But last time I was in Canton I robbed the magistrate blind. They don't erect statues in the town square for that.”

“Except I'm lookin' at evidence says they do,” Mal muttered. “This needs a moment of appreciation.”

“JARVIS, take a capture?” Clint requested.

“Certainly Sir,” the AI said obligingly. “If you will circle the statue, then it will be much more comprehensive.”

River and Clint separated to circle around the statue in opposite directions, crossed each other at the back, and resumed their previous position in front of the statue of Jayne.

“The likeness is very good. Will get no work done, nor get the story behind the statue, by standing staring though,” River announced at last.

“Right,” Mal agreed. “I want to stand and stare a bit more, but the Missy's right. We've got business to be about.”

It took them about the same amount of time to learn that their contact was a week dead (at the hands of the foreman and his prods) as it took Wash to decide that he could not _stand_ the taste of 'Mudders Milk'. Clint maintained that he just hadn't sufficiently braced himself for the horror before taking a sip. Thankfully, the goods were still in one of Kessler's hides and they just needed to somehow move the goods without getting caught themselves. After all, having their hands and feet cut off – which is what had become of Kessler – wasn't terribly appealing to any of them.

“Could kill the prods,” River offered.

“Could,” Clint agreed with a crooked smile. “But we've already got a cover,” he pointed out. “I've got a meeting with the foreman already set up after all. Move the goods then.”

“Sounds a lot cleaner,” Mal agreed with a tight smile. “Missy, don't go suggestin' we kill everyone again, please. It's a mite disturbin' when you say it all calm like you just did.”

River blinked, then nodded her acquiescence. “Will remember,” she promised, and then turned to watch the man with the guitar further into the shabby little bar where they were drinking Mudder's Milk. “The explanation for the statue,” she said clearly, catching the attention of everybody else at the table.

“ _Jayne_!” the man with the guitar sang out.

“JARVIS, record this please,” Clint asked quickly.

“Of course, Sir,” the AI answered from the comm device.

They were treated to a heroic ballad which painted Jayne in the same light as Robin Hood. It was pretty good actually, as far as heroic ballads went.

“Well,” Clint said as the song finished, “I'd say it's about time for me to go meet with the foreman.”

“Then we'll get to moving the goods,” Mal decided.

“She is going to talk to the Mudders,” River announced, rising from her seat. “She will see you back at the ship, and promises not to imbibe in alcoholic beverages.” The last was directed at Clint specifically, who gave her a kiss on the cheek and waved her off.

“Is that really alright?” asked the man who'd slipped into Kessler's place since he'd been done in, a worried frown on his face.

“Sure,” Clint said with a shrug. “Jean won't be expected at my meeting with the foreman, and she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself if she needs to.”

“Alright...”

The foreman asked after Clint's absent little sister when he arrived to their meeting as well.

“Turned in for the evening already,” Clint said in answer to the enquiry, not even batting an eyelid, before he turned the talk to business. As his cover was that he was just considering incorporating ceramics into his business, he took the opportunity to learn about all the special glazes, firing techniques, handling requirements and so on, thereby taking up more of the foreman's time. He left with a wrapped kilo of two different sorts of clay that Canton produced – but not before getting the word from JARVIS that the captain, Wash, Kaylee and River were all safely back on board with the cargo. Which meant that, apart from Inara (who was seeing a client), Clint was the only one _not_ on the ship.

“What's this?” Mal asked when Clint came aboard with the two small bags of clay.

“A productive cover,” Clint answered. “One for me to make ceramic blades with,” he said, as he lifted the small bag in his left hand, “and one for making ceramic sculptures from,” he finished, and raised the small bag in his right hand.

River quickly took the second small bag of clay from Clint's hands, and dashed off to her own bunk with a bright smile on her face. “Thank you Hawkeye!” she called as she disappeared down the hall.

Clint chuckled and shook his head. “You're welcome!” he yelled after her.

“You... _actually_ bought some clay...” Mal noted with quiet surprise.

“Didn't cost much,” Clint answered with a shrug. “That foreman must _really_ pay those Mudders a pittance for their work, if he pays them at all. So, has anybody told Jayne he's a really truly folk-hero yet?”

Mal chuckled. “Kaylee beat us all to it,” he said with a smile. The shock had (at last) worn off, and he was starting to get properly amused by the whole situation at this point. “Even got JARVIS to show him the capture of the statue in his honour and play back the song. Jayne hasn't come out of his bunk since.”

“The hero is drinking, hoping to forget his misbegotten and unintended heroism,” River announced as she returned to them. “The concept does not sit well in his brain pan.”

Clint and Mal both chuckled, though only Clint slung his arm around River's shoulders.

“And what did Miss Genius get up to while none of the crew were looking?” Clint asked her, tapping her nose fondly.

River grinned. “She incited rebellion among the masses,” she answered happily. “Foreman and Magistrate Higgins unlikely to still be in positions of power by week's end. Red and Black, hearts echo drums, the oppression must come to an end.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at the girl. “Les Miserables?”

“Oui,” River chirped back.

“Isn't that... some classic from Earth-That-Was? About a convict or somethin'?” Mal asked. “Book, got turned into a stage production...?”

Clint and River both smiled at their captain.

“If you like Captain, I could upload the original text and a few versions of productions performed and recorded over the years,” JARVIS offered.

“Sure,” Mal agreed.

“In _translation_ , please JARVIS,” Clint said. “Original text is in French. I don't think that's a language that the captain _knows_.”

“It ain't,” Mal agreed. “Yeah, in translation would be good.”

“Of course,” JARVIS deferred.

“Guess we're just waitin' on Inara to be done with her work, and then we can take off,” Mal said. “I don't suppose there's any chance of dinner?” he asked Clint pointedly. “You _have_ been busy today after all.”

Clint shrugged, then headed for the kitchen, tugging River along with him since he still had an arm around the girl. “Come along _Mei-Mei_ ,” he said fondly. “Time for another cooking lesson.”

River's smile was radiant as she followed along. “Incite rebellion against unjust authority, gifted art materials, _and_ a cooking lesson. This day is a shiny one.”

~oOo~

Clint was getting some flying lessons from Wash while the man programmed their course. It wasn't that he wanted to take over the man's job, but he just had the itch. He'd been many things in the past, and a pilot was one of those things. Knowing how to fly any kind of ship that _could_ be flown by just one man... well, Clint figured having a spare person on board knew how to pilot couldn't hurt. Just in case of emergencies. He'd already figured out how to pilot the shuttles.

“That's the course set,” Wash declared. “You feelin' comfy in that chair?”

“Yeah,” Clint answered, and smirked over at Wash. “Probably the most comfortable chairs in the whole ship.”

Wash chuckled. “That they are,” he agreed with a smile. “But that's not what I was askin'.”

“I can work with this,” Clint said, and ran a hand over the dash. “Not all that different to what I trained on actually.”

“Yeah?” Wash asked as he hauled himself out of his chair. The rest of the crew were in the dining area, eating. Time they went and joined them. “What did you train on? For that matter, _where_ did you train? I don't think you ever mentioned having been to any of the pilot schools.”

“I didn't,” Clint answered. “Mention it, _or_ attend any of the pilot schools,” he clarified. “Just learned whatever I needed to as I went.”

“Well, that's pretty good then,” Wash complimented as they entered a room full of laughter.

“Not one of the Brothers had the heart to say anything!” Book was recounting through his own chuckling. “He was so _proud_!”

“What?” Wash asked as he and Clint joined the. “What was he proud of? Who 'he'?” he pressed as he took a seat beside Zoe.

“Looked rather natty, truth to be told,” Book continued, having apparently not heard Wash's questions through the laughter.

“I want to hear about the natty thing,” Wash insisted.

“Shepherd Book was just tellin' us about his life in the monastery,” Kaylee supplied.

“Great. Monastic humour. I miss all the fun,” Wash complained.

“And apparently all the food,” Clint noted as he surveyed all the empty dishes before he took a seat next to River.

“Saved some,” River informed him, and produced a plate at the same time Zoe did, each of them covered with a napkin.

“Voila,” Zoe announced as she set her plate in front of Wash.

“I love my wife,” he said happily.

“Protein?” Clint asked, surprised. “Don't we still have _real_ food?”

“Protein has use-by date,” River explained. “Also, was Kaylee's turn to cook.”  
“An' I still ain't entirely used to usin' _real_ ingredients yet. I do okay with the proteins though,” Kaylee supplied as she rose from the table to start on dishes. “Who's turn is it to tell a funny story?”

“I want to hear from Clint,” Wash said as he dug into his meal. “He's holdin' out on us, I'm sure. Didn't even know he had any idea about piloting until he joined me on the bridge today.”

“We got a course set?” Mal asked.

“We do,” Wash answered. “Took a little creative navigating, but we'll be able to make it all the way to Greenleaf without running into any Alliance patrols. Having JARVIS being able to tell us where all the patrols _are_ is damn helpful. Makes my job a lot easier. Still going to take us a week to make an eighteen-hour journey though.”

“I am pleased to be of assistance,” JARVIS interjected. “Also, Mr Wash, the 'natty thing' was facial hair on one of the Brother's at the monastery.”

Wash and Clint both chuckled as they set upon their food.

“What do you say, Clint?” Shepherd Book asked. “Do you have any tales to tell? Humour from your past to share with us?”

Clint thought about that as he chewed on his meal. “Well, there was the time this guy tried to impersonate me when I was stuck in a med centre. He was a fairly good shot too, so he almost got away with it for a while. Dickhead shot a rocket at... well, a _sort of_ friend, while he was driving a truck. But Wade, the sort-of friend, he put the breaks on hard, caused the truck to skid ninety degrees,” he said, and used the hand not holding his fork to indicate the skidding halt. “Rocket went right through both of the open windows, didn't touch a thing. Blew up when it hit the ground some five-hundred metres later, middle of nowhere so it didn't do any damage to anybody.”

“Damn,” Jayne chuckled, impressed.

“Was a stain on my reputation until it came out that it _wasn't_ me made the shot,” Clint said with a nod.

“Are you saying you _wouldn't_ have missed?” Simon asked. “That sounded a lot like a lucky accident to me.”

Clint snorted. “Nah,” he said. “Wade, mentally unstable though he was, was _just that good_. And no, I _wouldn't_ have missed.”

“Never misses,” River added happily.

Clint nodded.

Then there was suddenly a cake, with candles, being set on the table in front of Simon.

“Care to make a first incision, Doctor Tam?” Kaylee asked with a bright smile, getting a few soft chuckles. “Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” echoed others around the table.

The atmosphere was just too happy all over for anybody to begrudge even Simon a bit of well-wishing. Besides, there was cake.

“This is, uh, how did you know?” Simon asked, shocked but delighted. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he took in the mismatched candles on top of the cake. “River?”

“I didn't get you anything,” she answered in a slightly apologetic, somewhat flat tone.

“Fresh warrant for your arrest came up on the cortex. Had your birthday on it,” Mal supplied.

“Really?” Simon asked, and that constipated-of-the-brain look of his made a reappearance. The smile gone.

“Hope you like it,” Kaylee said, clearly meaning the cake. “Like said already, I'm not entirely used to cookin' with real food, so it's... _essentially_ what we all just had for dinner.”

That got people laughing again, just softly, and Simon was once again grinning at his cake like a child.

“But I tried to make the frosting taste as chocolate-y as I could,” Kaylee added earnestly.

“Thank you,” Simon told her, actually tore his eyes away from the cake to look Kaylee in the eye and thank her. “No really,” he continued, looking around the table. “I'm really, very deeply moved.”

“Well,” Jayne urged. “ _Deeply move_ yourself to blow out them candles so we can try a slice,” he instructed, sending another ripple of laughter running around the table.

“Go on Doc,” Kaylee urged. “Give a good blow.”

Simon sucked air in, blew, and the candles went out.

So did the rest of the lights. Just for a moment. The sounds of the early stages of engine failure churned around them while the lights were dead. Didn't sound entirely healthy when the lights came back on either.

“What was that?” Jayne asked.

“Probably just a hiccup,” Kaylee assured, though, to be honest, she didn't look _or_ sound entirely sure of herself as she said it. “I'll go check it out,” she announced, and headed for the door out towards the lower decks.

“Fire...” River said softly, eyes fixed on the candles which Simon had already blown out before they flicked up to Kaylee.

Clint figured out what she was saying first. “Kaylee, shut the door!” he ordered.

Kaylee didn't need telling twice. She could see the flames coming too, and she was almost at the door handle.

“Seal off all doors to the lower decks,” Mal ordered Jayne as he ran for the bridge.

“Using the vacuum of space to put out a fire,” Clint mumbled as he stayed put in his chair. “That's a new one.”

“At least no one got hurt,” Zoe said with firm relief.

“Wash, I need you up here on the bridge to interpret all these flashin' lights, tell me how bad it is,” Mal called as he came back down once the fire was out. “Kaylee, need you in the engine room, find out what went wrong so we can fix it and get movin' again.”

“Aye-aye Captain,” both echoed, and proceeded to split off and take different doors out of the dining area. Kaylee re-opened the door she'd shut so that she could go down to the engine room, while Wash passed Mal up to the bridge.

“What do the rest of us do?” Simon asked.

“Until Wash and Kaylee have answers for us, the only thing we _can_ do is make a start on your cake,” Mal answered solemnly.

Simon nodded in acceptance, and started slicing up the cake that Kaylee had made for him.

As with the main meal, Zoe saved a piece for Wash, and River hid a slice for Kaylee to have when she came back from the engine room.

Wash returned not long after, but had no answers. Then Kaylee returned to them, a long look on her face.

“Kaylee?” Mal asked. “You know what happened?”

Kaylee nodded. “Catalyzer on the port compression-coil blew,” she announced solemnly. “That's where the trouble started.”

“What's that in captain-dummy-talk?” Mal asked with equal solemnity.

“We're dead in the water,” Kaylee answered.

“Can you fix it?” Zoe asked.

“I can try,” Kaylee said weakly.

“Just get us to limpin',” Mal said with a smile, sure of her ability. “That's all we need.”

Kaylee bit her lip nervously.

“What?” Mal asked, now worried. “What is it?”

“It's worse than just the coil,” Kaylee said.

“How can it be worse?” Mal pressed in a 'I get the feeling I do not want to know, but I have to ask anyway' sort of voice.

“Main life support is down,” Kaylee answered softly, “on account of the engine bein' dead.”

“Right...” Wash said, as that thought sank into all of their minds. “But we got auxiliary life support -”

“No, we don't,” Kaylee cut the pilot off with a shake of her head. “Ain't even on. Explosion musta knocked it out.”

“Then what are we breathin'?” Mal asked, eyes going wide with worry.

“What ever got pumped into the atmo before the explosion,” Kaylee offered sadly.

“An' most of that would have gotten eaten up by the fire on its way out the door,” Jayne interjected.

Worry spread around the table.

“Whatever's left is what we got,” Kaylee informed them all sadly. “We got a couple hours, maybe. Then we'll start to feel it. Then we won't feel nothin' at all.”

“Miss Sunshine,” Clint spoke up. “You're starting to look like there's too many rain clouds in your sky.”

“Catalyzer is _broken_ ,” Kaylee repeated. “Engine don't turn without it. Engine don't turn, we got no life support. We don't breathe. I like to breathe.”

Clint sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself out of his chair.

“Where you going?” Mal asked.

“I got something in my bunk may be just what we need,” Clint answered as he walked out of the dining area.

“Don't tell me you keep spare parts in your bunk,” Mal said, disbelief and hope all through his voice as he followed Clint, Kaylee hot on his heels and River not far behind her. “No, I take that back. _Please_ tell me you keep spare parts in your bunk.”

“Not spare parts,” Clint answered as he opened the door and climbed down. “Lot of wires, tools, raw materials for _making_ parts,” he explained as he squatted down and reached for one last, never-opened crate. “And this,” he said as he brought it to the foot of the ladder.

“The parting gift,” River said.

Clint didn't haul the crate up though. He returned to the computer that JARVIS had hitched his ride on. “JARVIS, I need the schematics for the reactor. Kaylee's a genius, but having the details will help. Upload them to the portable thing we got off Dobson. Then I want details on the catalyzer. If we need a new one I gotta know how to build it.”

“Certainly Sir,” JARVIS agreed, and shifted files around. “Transfer of files is complete.”

“Thanks,” Clint said shortly, then grabbed the portable cortex screen and headed back for the ladder out of his bunk.

“Cortex screen,” River requested, holding her hand out for it from the top of the ladder.

Clint gently lobbed it up so she could catch it, then picked up the crate and started hauling it and himself out of his bunk.

“Clint, I heard you say 'reactor',” Kaylee said once he'd shut the door of his bunk. “What the hell are you carrying?”

“It's called an arc reactor,” Clint answered. “That parting gift from Tony you may recall I told you about way back on U-Day. Been meaning to give you a look at it for a while actually. Seems like now's the time though,” he said as he carried the crate down to the engine room.

He set it down in front of the engine and opened it up, set the lid aside and pulled the arc reactor out of its packing. Then he turned to where Kaylee, River and Mal were all watching him.

Well, Kaylee's gaze was fixed on the arc reactor.

“Oh _that's_ shiny,” she said with a faint smile.

Clint smirked. “It can power something several times the size of _Serenity_ for a good five years,” he informed her. “And if _one_ genius can make one of these out of an idea and scrap parts in the middle of a desert, then surely _two_ geniuses can use a ready made one to get our life support back on.”

“More to the story of Tony's arc reactor than that,” River said as she got down on her knees to get a better look at the arc reactor.

“Yes,” Clint said with a solemn not. “But it's a long, complicated story. Now isn't the time for telling it. Where's the old catalyzer?”

Kaylee pointed to the part that was broken and no longer fitted on the engine – she'd set it down on her engine room work-bench – but her focus was taken up with the arc reactor and all the possibilities it was presenting to her.

Clint collected the busted part and ushered Mal out of the engine room. The girls didn't need them there getting in the way.

“Clint, where did you get that thing?” Mal asked softly. “What _is_ that thing?”

“It's something that could get us to _much_ better than limping if the girls can figure out how to hook it up,” Clint answered. “And I got it from the man who created JARVIS. Now, if you'll excuse me Captain, I'm going to fix or rebuild this part,” Clint said, and left the captain standing there, silently working his jaw as he wondered why he hadn't wondered about whoever had made JARVIS before then.

Clint didn't need two hours to build a new catalyzer from the old one and the blueprints that JARVIS had found for him. When he returned to the engine room with the restored part, all ready to work again, Kaylee and River were still figuring out how to hook up the arc reactor.

“Guess I win,” Clint said with a smile as he set the part into its correct place and got the engine spinning again.

River and Kaylee pouted up at him from where they were still sitting on opposite sides of where the arc reactor sat, not connected to anything.

He chuckled and shook his head at them. “I'm not going to take it away from you,” he told them fondly. “If you want to convert _Serenity_ to run on that, then I say you're welcome to, but now that the engine is working again, you'll have _time_ to figure out the best way to do it.”

“Tony was a genius,” River pronounced.

Clint chuckled again. “Knew that _Mei-Mei_ ,” he answered.

“I want to hear the story of how he built it,” Kaylee insisted. “And I want cake. I didn't get any before. The shiny will still be here after the story.”

Clint shook his head, but offered his hands to help the girls up off the floor, and escorted them up to the kitchen where he told them the story of how Tony came to have an arc reactor in his chest. Though of course he filtered out the names of locations. Just vague references to deserts and cities and the like. His excuse for not knowing names of places was that this had happened to Tony before Clint knew him, by which time he'd relocated to _another_ city.

Only River and himself knew the truth, and he was happy enough to leave it at that.


	10. Chapter 10

They'd dropped Shepherd Book off at the Bathgate Abbey on their way to Ariel – a Core planet. It was time for Inara's yearly check-up. Companion Guild Law required it of her. Clint, personally, thought that was a bit lax. Registered brothels back in his time had required _monthly_ check-ups, he was fairly sure. Hell, SHIELD had required that agents on active duty have monthly check-ups, with extras after any job that involved seduction (or lipstick missions as they were sometimes called). Once a _year_? They must have found _cures_ for some of the STDs.

Wash wanted to go on a nice date with Zoe while they were grounded. He wasn't sure what they'd do, but he wanted a nice date with his wife and was trying to convince her to go.

Kaylee and Inara were playing what Clint _guessed_ to be some variant of poker in the lounge space just off the kitchen while Jayne was cleaning a six-shooter at the dining table. River was in the kitchen, cooking and fending off Simon's attempts to help.

“Doc, you have _yet_ to cook _anything_ while you've been on this ship that didn't smell like crotch and taste like ass,” Jayne reminded the Core boy from where he was at the table. “River, on the other hand, has been learning how to cook from Clint, who _really_ knows his way around a kitchen.”

Clint bowed in deference to the praise from his own seat at the dining table.

“Someone tell my wife the wonderful things she'd be missing?” Wash implored.

“You... could go swimming in a bio-luminescent lake,” Simon offered.

Wash smiled at the idea and nodded hopefully to Zoe.

“I don't care if it's got sunsets twenty-four hours a day,” she answered with a smile. “I ain't settin' foot on that planet.”

“ _No one_ is settin' foot on that fancy rock,” Mal ordered firmly as he entered the dining area. “I don't want anyone leaving the ship,” he said as he perused River's cooking to see what was ready to eat yet.

“It's all done now,” she said softly, and offered Mal a plate before she started plating up more food – for herself, Clint, and Simon.

Mal nodded in gratitude and headed for the table with his plate and chopsticks. “Come to think of it,” he continued to the rest of them gathered there. “I don't want anyone lookin' out the windows or talkin' loud. We're here to drop off Inara, and that's it.”

“That will make the shopping I have to do a bit difficult,” Clint pointed out wryly.

“Should have done your shopping at Bathgate Abbey,” Mal replied easily.

“Some things they don't got,” Clint countered, without any heat.

River set Clint's plate down in front of him then took the vacant seat at his side. She paused a moment to glare at Jayne's shirt before she turned to her meal.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“I don't like your shirt,” she answered. “Blue Sun... The small things that take you, that get in where you don't even notice or don't think on...”

“What's she ramblin' about?” Jayne asked Clint.

“Do you know what Blue Sun _is_ Jayne?” Clint asked.

“They make stuff,” Jayne answered with a shrug.

“JARVIS?” Clint requested.

“The Blue Sun Company _owns_ the _Alliance_ ,” the AI expounded, “and they bought them with money made from people buying what they – and only they – produce. From shirts to tinned food to Gen-Seed to medical supplies to engine parts. Blue Sun is a monopoly in a great _many_ areas.”

“And _they_ _unmade me_ ,” River supplied with a harsh whisper.

“Right,” Jayne said slowly, then frowned. “Damn,” he decided. “It's a real comfy shirt. Seems a shame to burn it.”

River's face broke into a smile as a giggle escaped her. “The offer is mollifying,” she said. “Need not burn the shirt.”

“Could dye it a different colour perhaps?” Wash suggested.

“JARVIS, did you perhaps find anything out about what the Academy did to River?” Simon asked, barely hopeful.

“Indeed I did,” JARVIS answered. “The files have been at Miss Tam and Mr Barton's disposal for some weeks now.”

“Wh-why wasn't I told about this?” Simon demanded. “Why wasn't  _ I _ , as the  _ doctor _ , given access to this information?”

“Never asked,” River stated with an easy shrug.

“And you coming after River with needles has been  _ very _ entertaining for the crew in general,” Clint added with a smirk.

Simon frowned at them very purposefully.

Clint sighed. “Look, Doc, the reports detail what was done, the recordable effects the procedures had, as well as a list of people who came to see her and the procedures that they intended to conduct but didn't get to before you broke her out,” he said. “River is a  _ genius _ , remember that detail? And I've got medic training enough that I can do anything that she needs an extra set of hands for.”

“Which isn't much,” River supplied.

“Which isn't much,” Clint agreed.

“As the  _ qualified doctor _ on this ship, I'd really like to know what was done to my sister,” Simon insisted.

“I can download the files onto your portable cortex screen,” JARVIS offered. “Or I could summarise?”

“ _ She _ will summarise,” River answered firmly. “Multiple surgeries to strip her of amygdala,” she informed Simon.

“What's... an amygdala?” Jayne asked.

“It's a filter,” Simon answered. “When you're scared, for example, but you don't want to be scared, you push it to the back of your mind. The amygdala is what allows you to do that.”

“Must feel everything, no other option,” River stated. “As the child once more. Cry when sad, scream when frightened, laugh when happy. Must learn over again to moderate outbursts and cope with stresses.”

“Can't do a thing about it with drugs or surgery,” Clint added. “Unless they've developed a drug now that will help  _ re-grow _ missing parts of brain tissue?” he asked rhetorically.

“N-no,” Simon admitted. “I'd... still like to see the files please,” he added. “Maybe even... get some neural scans while we're on Ariel? They  _ do _ have great medical facilities, we'd be able to find out what's changed since...”

“Valid,” River admitted with a sigh.

“Have we all forgotten so quickly what I said about  _ no one leaving the ship while we're on Ariel _ ?” Mal asked. “Because, you know, I coulda sworn I said it not ten minutes ago.”

“There's also the issue of you two bein' fugitives,” Jayne added pointedly. “How in the hell you gonna  _ get _ into the hospital without gettin' pinched?”

Clint coughed. “Ahem,” he said. “Hello, nurse? My ship just set down in the docks not long ago, and my little sister hasn't been feeling well lately. Would I be able to schedule some time with your  _ excellent _ facilities? Oh no, we won't need one of your doctors. We travel with our own  _ personal _ doctor. Our ship's infirmary just doesn't have the diagnostic equipment required to figure out what's been bothering Jeanie. How much will free run of your diagnostic ward cost us for an hour? Oh is that all? And a time? Three o'clock? That's perfect, thank you so much,” he acted out.

“I'll make an appointment,” JARVIS' digitised voice said, and it could have been their imaginations, but it  _ sounded _ like the AI was amused. “Do you  _ want _ it to be for three o'clock Sir?”

Clint chuckled. “Doesn't have to be,” he answered.

“You plannin' on actually payin' for this?” Mal asked. “Only I'm not seein' where the funds are comin' from.”

Simon smirked. “If we get you into the hospital, you can get  _ more _ than enough funds to pay for this,” he answered. “One little bottle of the most common immune booster will get fifty platinum on the street. I can make you a list of the drugs to grab, and JARVIS can get you a floor plan and get you into the right rooms, I'm sure.”  
“Certainly,” JARVIS agreed.

“Not to be negative, but don't the hospital  _ need _ those drugs?” Kaylee asked.

“This is a  _ major _ government medical facility in the Core,” Zoe said flatly. “They'd be restocked within a few hours.”

“She's right. They won't even miss it,” Simon assured her.

“Stealing from the rich and selling to the poor is great,” Wash said, “but uh, how will the  _ rest _ of us get in to  _ get _ the drugs that will be paying for this?”

“New hires on the morgue crew?” Simon suggested.

Clint nodded. “Always a good in,” he agreed. “It'll also mean you'll have some very convenient equipment for moving stuff around without the stolen drugs being noticed. What do they use in Ariel? I'm used to body-bags and gurneys.”

“Coffins in a Core facility, rather than body bags, but gurneys is still correct,” Simon answered.

“Even more room to stow stolen goods then,” Jayne said with a smile.

“There  _ will _ be some outlay for this,” Simon cautioned. “For uniforms, fake idents, and we'll need to get one of the ships that the hospital uses for transport, since they only let in official vehicles...”

The plotting began.

“We're going trash trawling?” Kaylee nearly whined. “First time on a fancy Core planet, since Persephone don't count, you're gonna send me to a junk-yard?”

“Sunshine,” Clint said with a smirk, “take your shopping trolley. Rich folks will toss out perfectly good stuff if what it's attached to isn't 'good enough' any more. Stuff folks on the Rim would fix up and use another fifty times, these people will just dump out.”

It was the same difference between people in America, with their disposable income and their newer-is-better attitude and other countries with a stronger recycling culture. Recycling as in: the torn shirt can be used to patch the trousers, the emptied toilette roll can be used as bio-degradeable planters for seeds to grow into seedlings in, and buy a new _battery_ or _band_ for the watch rather than just buying a _whole_ _new watch_ damn it!

“Don't need to teach the technical jargon,” Clint said, cutting off Simon just as he got it into his head to drill the soon-to-be 'new hires' in what they should say about the 'corpses' they'd supposedly be bringing in. “They'll be delivery people, they say they've got a couple of bodies, the receiving  _Hu Shi_ will just order them down to the morgue. Won't even check the bodies most likely.”

“Thank goodness,” Jayne sighed in relief. “If I'd wanted schooling I'd have gone to school.”

Inara chuckled discretely at that. “It is certainly some  _ interesting _ crime you're lining up here,” she commented. “I'm almost sorry that I'm going to miss it, since I'll be having my  _ own _ examination at the same time.”

It was a nice, smooth job from both ends. Clint got River and Simon all properly disguised and unrecognisable to identity scanners. JARVIS got them free run of the diagnostic wing of the hospital during the evening shift when less happened, so they wouldn't be underfoot or run into anybody while there – and at a  _ very _ reasonable fee. Kaylee and Wash had their fun shopping in the junk yard and came up with a shiny and new-looking ambulance of the age by the time they were done, and Jayne got them the uniforms without any trouble. Then Wash flew Mal, Jayne and Zoe in and they wheeled their empty coffins down to the storage rooms where they first of all filled out their shopping lists, then figured that, well, while they were there...

They were out again in next to no time, thanks to JARVIS making sure that all the doors opened for them without any trouble.

Clint was 'big brother' and Simon was 'Doctor Mallard' and they had all the tests that Simon wanted done running while he took scans in another machine. JARVIS uploaded all the data, and wiped its existence from the hospital's files history, covering their tracks  _ very _ carefully, and then  _ they _ were out too.

“I'm not sure which of you is the good luck charm,” Mal said to Clint once they were all back on  _ Serenity _ – even Inara – and headed out to the black once more. “But since we took passengers aboard on Persephone, jobs have gone  _ very _ smooth. Unaccustomed as I am to jobs going smooth, I am  _ very _ much enjoyin' it.”

“Can't be Shepherd Book,” Clint offered. “If he were the good luck, job wouldn't have gone smooth without him on board ship.”

Mal chuckled happily.

“Hey Captain?” Kaylee called as she skipped down the stairs into the bay. “Can we keep it?” she asked, gesturing to the ship she and Wash had fixed up for infiltrating the hospital. “Only... it's so  _ shiny _ .”

“Good ride too,” Mal agreed. “Sure, if you can find somewhere  _ else _ to stow it. Middle of the cargo bay, it kinda takes up room we could be usin' for things like  _ cargo _ . Might want to do something about the medical symbol too. We ain't a med service after all.”

“ _Mei Wen Ti_ , Captain!” Kaylee chirped happily.

~oOo~

Since they were in the Core, and Ariel was not far from Bellerophon, Mal ordered Wash to swing Serenity around to the planet that had been on their 'to visit list' for a while. It was as good a time as any to exchange the cryo-ed Mrs Haymer-Mallard (she _was_ also married to the doc, and his alias was his real name as far as she knew) for the reward that her (first) husband had out for her return to him.

As a bonus, Inara could get some work in _immediately_ after her yearly physical, which she certainly appreciated. The lady got a bit unpleasant to be around when there wasn't any opportunity for her to meet with clients for too long periods of time. Snippy, that was the word for it. She got snippy if she didn't get to meet with any clients for too long.

So anyway, while Mal and Zoe delivered Mrs Haymer-Mallard to Mr Haymer (with a list of details from River about the woman's status _within_ the cryo-box), Clint sat with River in the dining area: he was finally getting around to carving something from some of the horns he'd cut off the cattle they'd shipped a while back. River was working on another horn, just drawing a design on it for now, to be carved out later.

“Hey Clint, River,” Wash greeted as he flopped down into another of the chairs around the table. “I had an idea.”

“The volcano and palm trees are disproportionate, and the dinosaurs should have names,” River stated calmly, eyes once more focused on the horn in her hand and the marks she was making upon it with her pencil.

“Yeah?” Wash asked with a smile, and sat up a little straighter.

River nodded.

Wash looked to Clint to see what he thought of the idea.

Clint shrugged. “I've been personally thinking of them as Lucy and Mr T since you showed 'em to me,” he admitted.

“T-rex was Mr T, right?” Wash checked with a smile.

Clint smirked back. “Too predictable,” he answered. “Other way round.”

Wash laughed. “I'll do that then!” he agreed. “And work on finding more proportional landscape,” he added to River. “But that wasn't what I wanted to ask you guys about,” he continued.

“What's on your mind?” Clint prompted.

“That... well, we could make more off the medicine if we sold it straight to the MDs, rather than going through middle-men, and we'd know for sure that the goods were getting to people who needed them,” Wash explained. “What do you think?”

“MDs would not deal direct,” River answered. “Even on the Rim. Go through trusted middle-men, standard procedure.”

“There's also a lot of middle-men out there in the 'verse,” Clint added. “Cutting out one middle-man will set the backs up of every other one, and we'll have a lot of people feeling much less kindly towards us.”

“Course of action is  _Jwohn Gao Bu Yi_ ,” River finished.

“Aw,” Wash whined. “I thought it was a good idea.”

“While theoretically sound, practically it is inadvisable,” JARVIS added sympathetically. “At least, at this time.”

“On the other hand, if we build up a reputation for having quality goods, then eventually the buyers may come to _us_ directly,” Clint offered to Wash. “We land, they rock up and see what we're carrying, if there's anything they want to buy.”

Wash winced. “Makes us sound like a travelling general store,” he complained a bit, then sighed and flopped his weight forward onto his elbows. “I asked Zoe to float the idea with the captain. He's going to shoot it down too, isn't he?”

“High probability,” River agreed.

At the same time, Clint said, “Probably,” and nodded his head. “Sorry man,” he offered.

Wash sighed again. “No, it's alright. I just like the idea of  _knowing_ that the goods are going where they'll be used best. And a bigger make on the goods. Maybe I'm still a little too idealistic to be a proper criminal,” he said with a shrug.

~oOo~

Kaylee had picked an apple for herself from the bowlful that Clint had provided with a little of his cut from the first sale of stolen pharmaceuticals, and River picked it out of her hand with a grin.

“Hey!” Kaylee objected. “That's my apple!”

“Mine now!” River teased. Then she had to start running as Kaylee determined that she wanted _her_ apple _back_.

Clint chuckled with Wash as he watched the girls run out of the dining area, laughing, and then back _into_ the dining area, still laughing.

Kaylee managed to corner River and retrieve her apple, and with a triumphant grin held it aloft and proclaimed: “No power in the 'verse can stop me!”

Clint shook his head fondly at the girls and grabbed two more apples and a knife. He handed one of the apples to River, then sat down beside her with his own apple in one hand and the knife in the other.

Zoe took his vacated seat, a smile on her face, picked up an apple for herself and sliced into it with the knife from her belt.

“Zoe, how come you always cut your apples?” Kaylee asked as she flopped down on a chair and took a bite of her own, hard-won, piece of fruit.

“You do?” Wash asked his wife, surprised. He'd apparently never noticed that particular quirk before.

Kaylee nodded. “Her and -”

“-And any one who's ever done any kind of service,” Clint cut in.

“Never just munch on 'em,” Kaylee finished.

“Know what a Grizwald is?” Zoe asked Kaylee, even as she continued to slice up her apple.

“It's a grenade,” Jayne supplied as he stepped through the door into the kitchen, and speared an apple on the end of _his_ knife.

“About the size of a battery,” Zoe continued. “Responds to pressure.”

“Easy enough to hide something that small in a whole fruit. First bite _might_ not kill you,” Clint added. “But that bit of fruit _will_ be your last meal, unless you're lucky enough that your fruit-bomb was defective.”

“They don't make much noise,” Zoe said as she nodded to Clint in solemn agreement. “Just little pops... and then there were three guys that ended at the ribcage. Alliance guys in the next trench, not ten yards away, we were all out of ammo so... we got to talkin'. Mentioned we was out of rations. It rained _apples_ not ten minutes later,” she explained.

“But these apples are _healthsome_ and _good_ ,” Wash said with some forced cheer.

“Yeah,” Jayne said with a smirk. “Grenades costs extra.”

“No,” Clint countered. “Grenades makes the apples _free_. Inserting a grenade leaves a mark though, however good a guy might be at hiding it. I checked every bit of fruit before I paid for 'em.”

“Paranoid eater,” River said softly with a smile. “Still cuts up his bombs even when he knows they aren't ticking.”

Clint reached over and mussed up River's hair fondly. “A little oxidation before consumption also makes 'em _taste_ better,” Clint countered with a smirk.

“We are about twenty-thousand miles from our last drop people,” Mal announced as he walked into the kitchen – and grabbed an apple for himself as well. “Then, I'm thinkin' we should take a break, start thinkin' about _spending_ some of our bank roll in a serious sorta fashion.”

Clint chuckled. “Now, how many digits is our account at, JARVIS?” he called.

“Twelve, Sir,” the AI answered. “And that is _not_ including the money present in cash-form aboard the ship.”

“Yeah, _definitely_ need to look at spending some of that money,” Mal said. “Before it makes a target out of us.”

“We _coulda_ made more,” Wash suggested softly, still kind of stuck on his idea of selling direct, even if it had been explained to him why it wouldn't happen.

“That wasn't a bad idea Wash,” Mal said. “But eliminating the middle-man is never as simple as it sounds.”

Wash looked over at Clint and River, who shook their heads. Then he turned betrayed eyes on Zoe – who shifted a tiny bit in her seat.

“Yeah,” Wash allowed. “Clint and River explained the issues to me. I just still kinda like the idea.”

Mal chuckled. “Well alright then,” he allowed, and clapped Wash on the shoulder. “This quadrant at least, we play nice. Got enough enemies as it is.”

“This might not be the best time, but I regret to inform that Niska has discovered who has been skimming his funds,” JARVIS announced. “He is _not_ pleased.”

“Well, we _have_ taken rather a lot,” Clint answered the AI.

“Don't worry about it too much for now JARVIS,” Mal advised, though he was visibly a little uneasy himself. “He's got to _catch_ us before we should start worrying. I don't plan on him catching us.”

“As you like Sir.”

“If he catches us...” River said softly, her brown eyes fixed on Clint's face.

“If,” he said firmly, “then it's an excuse to rid the 'verse of a very unpleasant man,” Clint answered her.

“The drop should still be a milk run,” Mal decided, “but Zoe an' I'll take those communication devices Clint and River made.”

“Actually, Captain, would it be alright if _I_ went with you on this one?” Wash asked, his disappointed gaze still fixed on his wife's increasingly guilty expression.

Mal looked between his pilot and his first mate. “It should be a milk run,” he said, “so alright. Zoe, ship's yours.”

Zoe nodded in acceptance, and then she and Wash both vacated the kitchen for the bridge and a little private conversation.

“Do I even want to know what just happened?” Mal asked the room at large.

“Wash asked Zoe to float his idea to you,” Clint started.

Mal nodded. “Yeah, and she did that,” he agreed.

“Wife lied to Husband about it due to negative answer from Captain,” River finished. “Husband feeling insecure about marriage.”

“What?” Jayne asked, confused.

“Say you had a wife who deferred to _some other guy_ rather than you, who _wasn't_ her dad,” Clint said to the man. “How would you feel?”

“Pissed,” Jayne answered succinctly. “That's Wash right now?” he asked, double-checking that he had his fact straight.

“About right,” Kaylee agreed with a sigh.

When Clint had finished his apple, both Wash _and_ Zoe had left the bridge through the kitchen again. Separately. Went in different directions even. Clint sighed and got up from his chair, and headed up to the bridge. They needed to land after all – Inara had a client who would be coming aboard.

Once they were on the ground – and Inara had escorted her _female_ , _high-ranking_ client up to her shuttle – Clint headed into his bunk. For a very different reason than Jayne had though. After all, _he_ hadn't watched the Councillor come aboard, and so had _no_ mental images to... become tense over.

He was going to get some sleep. JARVIS had told him that Niska was aware of Mal's location, just between the two of them – and Mal and Wash on the comms – while Clint was on the bridge. He wanted to be well rested in case the pair got caught and the shit hit the fan.

It was not to be, however. River descended into his bunk before he'd even finished taking his shirt off. A fair-sized circle of string was hanging from one of her hands – in a very specific way.

“Cats cradle?” Clint asked when he spotted it. “Seriously? Of all the children's games I played as a kid, and watched other kids play, you want to play _cat's cradle_? Now?”

River nodded. “She has already gone through all the motions she saw in his memories that she can on her own, and Kaylee is currently too distracted by thoughts of Inara's client to do more than tie knots.”

“You could make up _new_ patterns,” Clint suggested. “There are lots of more complicated patterns that can be made than I ever saw after all,” he pointed out, but waved tiredly for her to sit at one end of his bed, while he sat at the other.

River smiled. She had won – he had conceded, therefore she had won. The two killers traded the string game back and forth between them, a different pattern appearing with every pull and tug that they tugged and pulled.

“Sir,” JARVIS called after about an hour of the game.

“Now I'm learning about scary,” River announced suddenly, but softly, her eyes a hundred miles away as her lips moved and the words came out.

“May I say, Miss Tam, you said that at _exactly_ the same time as our good pilot,” JARVIS stated. “It seems that the drop has _not_ gone smoothly.”

“Niska?” Clint asked.

“Yes, Sir,” JARVIS answered.

“Jayne was hired onto the crew because of his tracking ability,” River offered as she let the string from their game go slack over her fingers.

“Right,” Clint agreed. “JARVIS, if you could tell Zoe and Jayne? River and I will get the ATVs ready to go.”

“She gets to come?” River asked hopefully, just a little excited at the prospect.

“She gets to come,” Clint confirmed, and rolled his eyes in amusement, then tapped her on the nose as he got off the bed.

Jayne and Zoe got to the hangar just as Clint and River were carrying Simon off to the side of the cargo bay where he'd be out of the way _and_ out of sight.

“Why's the doc out of it?” Jayne asked.

“Wished to object to her being part of the search party,” River answered with all the offended disdain of a socialite princess – nose in the air and all – as she stalked back to _Serenity_ 's ATV.

“Tried a smoother to get her to stay put,” Clint added as he swung up onto his quad-bike. “You two get to ride pillion. And JARVIS? Let Kaylee know where we've gone?”

“Of course Sir.”

Jayne climbed up behind Clint, Zoe behind River, and they were off.

It took them a while to reach the drop site, and when they did, it was to find three dead bodies and a tipped-over crate of medical supplies.

“None of 'em is ours,” Jayne said as soon as the quads were both stopped.

“Small mercies,” Zoe answered tersely.

“Precision work,” Clint noted as he turned the bodies over and saw the perfect little entry-wounds in the middle of each forehead. “Snipers with laser-sights would be my guess.”

“Fifty-four-R,” River confirmed as she stepped lightly across the sand to pack up the discarded medical supplies. They were still good after all. Most of them. And considering that Niska had Mal and Wash... they'd probably be needed.

Jayne stopped a moment to stare at River when she pronounced the make of gun that had killed the three guys he was currently looting. “Right,” he said eventually. “Genius that got made a _Wei Shian Dohn Woo_ by the Alliance.”

“A bit surprised that Niska's men didn't take the goods at the same time,” Zoe commented as she helped River lift the crate onto the back of Clint's quad-bike.

Jayne wandered around the site, looking for any sign of which way they'd gone. “Found the tracks,” Jayne called after a moment.

Clint, Zoe and River all followed him up.

“They're off world already, an' there's only one type of transport I know makes marks like this,” Jayne said with a gesture to a pair of black burn-marks along the sand.

“Fast burn rocket-shuttle,” River and Zoe answered in agreement at the same time.

“Ship like that...” River started, but didn't finish.

“We already knew it was Niska took 'em,” Clint said with a shrug. “We came in hopes of catching his men before they got off-world. We're too late. That's all. Plan B.”

“Plan B?” Zoe echoed, unhappy and worried.

“Rescue them from the crazy man's skyplex,” Clint answered her. “Kill the crazy man on the way out.”

“She does _not_ like the Hawkeye's plan,” River informed Clint gravely, eyes narrowed at him.

“But the probability of _success_?” he pressed.

River pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “High,” she answered.

“Did you two come up with a 'Plan B' before Zoe an' me showed up in the cargo bay an' neglect to _tell_ us?” Jayne asked.

River shook her head. “Reader,” she stated. “Was not involved in the planning. Will not be involved in the execution.”

“What does this plan of yours involve, Clint?” Zoe demanded.

“You, me, and the shuttle go to the skyplex,” Clint answered. “You offer _me_ in trade for them. After all, _I'm_ the one who was actually doing the scamming from Niska's accounts. You just want your captain and your husband back.”

“I don't see Niska taking one man in exchange of two,” Jayne pointed out.

Clint shrugged. “I can handle a bit of torture,” he said. “Give me an opportunity, I'll be able to get right back up and take Niska out with a tongue-puller.”

Jayne grimaced as he tried to figure out how the hell that would even work.

“I'll load the meds up onto the shuttle. Wash and Mal will need them when we get them out,” Clint said, and picked up the crate off his quad-bike and started walking towards the shuttle. “I'd go on my _own_ ,” he said, “but I'm not _sure_ Mal and Wash would be able to walk back to the shuttle from where they're being held without help.”

Zoe swallowed. She didn't want to think about that possibility. “What about JARVIS?” she asked suddenly, a thought occurring to her. “He's in the skyplex's system, isn't he?”

“I am,” JARVIS answered into their comm units. “But in consideration for the various unpleasant tools that Niska has for use in his torture room, the best I can do is moderate how many volts they will be charged with when Niska's man Crow has finished attaching the shockers, or make a _particularly_ unpleasant machine malfunction, though I admit to not knowing how to do that safely...” the AI offered apologetically.

Jaws clenched all around. Zoe worried for her husband. River remembered the treatments she suffered at the Academy. Jayne tried to imagine that pain based on what he'd felt the few times  _he_ had accidentally electrocuted himself. Clint just kept walking towards the shuttle, box of meds on his shoulder, and prepared his mind for what he was about to walk into.


	11. Chapter 11

While Zoe piloted the shuttle up to the skyplex, Clint tied his own wrists together with a thin bit of rope that was lying around in the back of the shuttle. It didn't have to be  _much_ , but it  _did_ have to be  _obvious_ .

Zoe docked, and Clint stood up. Time to start the act.

“I'm unarmed,” Zoe announced as she stepped out of the shuttle, arms up as she submitted to being frisked by Niska's stooges. Then she reached back into the shuttle and pulled Clint out. “I want to talk to Niska,” she said firmly.

Clint was  _not_ frisked. Apparently having your wrists tied together and no  _obvious_ weapons was enough for these guys to not worry about that sort of thing. Granted, he only had a knife stashed in his left boot where they probably wouldn't have noticed it  _anyway_ , but  _still_ –!

Four armed flunkies escorted them along the same route that  _one_ had the  _last_ time they'd been to the skyplex, but this time, when they reached Niska's office, there was no Crow at the door to greet them, and no Niska sitting behind his desk like a genial old man.

The door was opened to reveal Mal and Wash were strapped to a metal frame where last time the nephew of Niska's wife had been hanging from a chain. JARVIS reported in Clint and Zoe's ear that they had  _only_ been electrocuted so far, though multiple times. The pair still looked like they'd been through a wringer though.

“No,” Wash said weakly when he spotted Zoe – he was facing the door that had just opened between them. “No, no, no. Run, _run_ ,” he begged softly.

Niska was grinning at Zoe as she walked into the room, a hand still clenched on Clint's shoulder, and approached the sadistic little man.

“I'd like my men back,” she said.

“So you bring me another, all tied up?” Niska asked happily.

“When we figured out what had happened, none of the crew could figure out why you'd taken them, since you didn't mind us leaving when we told you we wouldn't be doing the train job. Until Hawkeye here admitted to having skimmed from your accounts. I think a guilty party for two who didn't even know about the transgression against you is a fair trade,” Zoe said firmly.

“This is your opinion, is it?” Niska asked.

“It is,” Zoe answered firmly.

Niska pursed his lips in mildly theatric thought. “Hmm,” he mused. “As you say, having the man who  _actually_ wronged me is certainly better than men who did not, but even so, I could not trade two men for just one. It is not a balanced trade,” he explained seriously. “So now, you have -”

“Him,” Zoe said firmly, and pointed at Wash, cutting off Niska mid-sentence. “I'm sorry,” she said falsely as she turned back to Niska. “You were going to ask me to _choose_ , right?” she asked.

The elderly man gaped at her a little. He had clearly not expected her to be so quick about it, to show such little hesitation.

“Would you like to finish?” Zoe asked sharply.

Niska shut his mouth and gestured to Crow to let Wash down.

Wash simply fell. Zoe moved to help him up while Crow took hold of Clint and started to strap  _him_ into the third and final spot on the metal contraption where Mal and Wash had been electrocuted.

“But...” Niska said as he watched Zoe help Wash up off the floor, “I think a _whole_ man for a _damaged_ man might be too much. You should have some _small_ refund,” he decided, and picked up a wicked looking knife.

Zoe had just gotten Wash to his feet when Niska cut off one of Mal's ears.

Mal, of course, screamed. Even a very sharp knife, that would hurt. There were a surprisingly  _lot_ of nerve-endings in and around the ear – pain receptors among them.

The man wrapped it up in a white handkerchief and offered it to Zoe.

She tucked it into her vest, lifted one of Wash's arms over her shoulders, and started walking. The door closed behind them.

“You... are a _Feng Le_ _Sha Gwa_ ,” Mal informed Clint through the pain.

“ _Ni How_ to you too,” Clint answered drolly.

Niska smiled and walked around to face Clint. “Tell me, Mr Hawkeye,” he said, “do you know the writings of Shan Yu?”

“Shan Yu, Shan Yu...” Clint mused. “Let me think. What Shan Yu's have I heard of? There was the bad guy in Disney's animated film _Mulan_ ,” Clint said. “Don't see him having written anything. The Xiongnu people of ancient Earth-That-Was called their rulers Shan Yu, I guess one of them might have written something...” he continued thoughtfully.

“Shan Yu was a great poet. He wrote volumes on war, torture, and the limits of human endurance,” Niska explained. “He wrote 'Live with a man 40 years; share his house, his meals, and speak on every subject – then tie him up, and hold him over the volcano's edge. On that day, you will finally meet the man',” Niska elucidated.

“Ah, and I suppose you want to 'meet' me at some point during my stay,” Clint said. “Well, I've always been more of a fan of Nietzsche when it comes to poetry or philosophy on the subject of pain.”

“Really?” Niska asked, and gestured to Crow.

A whole lot of volts just went through the metal contraption – and through Mal and Clint as well by consequence, as they were  _very_ thoroughly strapped to the contraption and even had some pads attached to them to make  _sure_ that they were electrocuted as well.

Clint spit out a bit of blood. He'd bit his cheek a little too hard holding back a scream. The voltage wasn't as bad as it could have been, thanks to JARVIS, and he'd had worse before while he was a SHIELD agent, but it still wasn't a fun experience.

“It's the whole 'what does not kill me, makes me stronger' thing,” Clint continued, as though he hadn't just been electrocuted and spat a gob of blood on the floor at his feet. “Not so big on the Marquis de Sade though.”

“De Sade?” Mal joined in, aiming to distract himself from the pain as well. “Isn't he the one we get the word 'sadism' from?”

“That's the one,” Clint agreed. “The whole 'pleasure in pain' theory. I grant you though, he's got his place. There are some guys it's felt really _good_ to kill.”

Niska walked around the metal contraption to stand with Crow.

Clint blinked. Yep, his eyes were working. He really  _was_ seeing what he thought he was seeing.

“Hello Loki,” he greeted neutrally.

Niska whipped around, Crow looked over, and Mal twisted as much as he could from his strapped position to look in the same direction as Clint was.

“Oh, hey,” Mal greeted. “What brings you here?”

Loki glanced down at the one small gob of fresh blood on the floor – on top of layers of dried blood from other people – and looked back up at Clint, then Mal, and finally he settled his gaze – and narrowed it – on Niska and Crow and all the implements of torture that were lying on a cloth-covered trolley between them.

“Who are you?” Niska demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“He is Loki, of Asgard, and he comes burdened with _glorious purpose_ ,” Clint introduced, a little sarcastically. “Right?” he checked with a slight, dark, smirk.

Loki smiled back and bowed slightly. It was the first time Clint had ever joked about  _that time_

around him. He hoped it was progress and not just because he'd been tortured a little.

“What purpose?” Niska demanded with a sneer. “Crow,” he ordered with a gesture towards the switch that would electrocute Mal and Clint again.

Crow reached for the switch.

“Please don't,” Loki said, suddenly in front of Crow with a dagger to his throat. With a dagger half-way _through_ his throat. With a bloody dagger and Crow's head on the floor at his feet. “I come with _glad_ tidings,” he continued as he stalked slowly around Crow's body and towards Niska.

“Of a 'verse made free?” Clint suggested.

“Absolutely,” Loki agreed.

“Free from what?” Niska asked as he backed up a step – subtly trying to get away from Loki and towards his office.

“You,” Loki answered the little man – and by comparison he was _very_ little.

Niska opened his mouth to yell for his guards.

His head fell to the ground with his mouth still open.

“That's all very dramatic,” Mal complimented tiredly, “and I'm glad to see the sicko dead, but I'd be grateful if you would please untie us now?” he asked.

Loki released Clint first, for which he got a  _very_ quiet 'thank you', and then Mal.

“Much appreciated,” Mal said as he sagged down to the floor.

“JARVIS?” Clint called hopefully.

“I'm here, Sir,” the AI answered.

“Take everything. Niska's dead. Are Wash and Zoe back on Serenity yet or -?” Clint asked.

“They are only just now reaching the shuttle Sir,” JARVIS replied. “I will advise them to not take off yet.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, and hauled Mal up off the ground and put an arm over his shoulders.

“Clint...” Loki called softly.

Clint turned slightly to look at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked helplessly.

“I've been through worse,” Clint answered. “Before you, even,” he added, and headed for the door.

It was a long trek to the shuttle through Niska's skyplex – and past a  _lot_ of confused grunts. They just weren't used to seeing Niska's 'guests' walking out again. Loki was also a confusing presence as he shadowed Clint and Mal through the halls. None of them had seen him coming in, after all.

“Niska's dead?” Zoe asked by way of greeting.

“Niska's dead,” Mal confirmed. “Loki killed him.”

“Thank you,” Wash said sincerely to the tall figure who had followed Clint and Mal aboard the shuttle.

Loki nodded.

“Doc'll re-attach your ear when we get back to _Serenity_ ,” Zoe said to Mal, and handed over the hanky that had the chopped off ear wrapped up in it. “Til then, we got all these meds you didn't sell today.”

“Thanks for reminding me. Wash, take us home.”

“Gladly, Captain.”

~oOo~

“We are not alone!” yelled a man in a big fur coat and a top hat. “Forget what you think you know! Forget what your mother told you when she tucked you in at night! Forget the _lies_ of our oppressive, cabalistic allied government! Behind this curtain is the very secret they do not want you to see!”

“I see that freak-show attractions and enthusiastic sprookers didn't die out when we hit the stars,” Clint noted to River quietly – the only person who knew that he'd been on Earth-That-Was and could _make_ that comparison.

“If he _truly_ had a secret the Alliance wanted kept secret, he would be shut down,” River agreed.

“The most astounding scientific discovery in the history of humanity!” the showman continued earnestly. “ _Proof_ of alien life!”

“It's a deformed foetus,” Clint pronounced absently. He didn't even have to go in to see. Freak-show aliens were _always_ deformed foetuses. Not to say he didn't believe in alien life. Hell, he'd _fought_ aliens in the _streets_ of _New York_. “Probably upside-down as well to make it harder to recognise for what it is. But there _are_ still chumps in the 'verse who will pay to see it.”

“Or pay to have five minutes alone in a dark quiet space,” River quipped, and pointed to where she could see her brother paying twelve bits for entry.

Kaylee was on his arm.

Since the incident where he'd accidentally gotten married, the doctor had been  _trying_ to make some romantic inroads with the bubbly mechanic. It was all a bit amusing really, since Kaylee was absolutely set that – attractive as the doctor was – he was  _married_ . Alright so they'd dropped his wife off with her other husband, but...

“Come on,” Clint suggested to River. “Let's get some ice cream and head to the post office.”

The post office was the whole reason they were on this space station. Mal had gotten a wave from a guy called Amnon, said he was holding post for them.

Clint blinked in shock at what they found on their search. “Ice cream hanging from a bit of  _string_ ?” he asked rhetorically. “Just... no.”

“There are plastic cups,” River pointed out.

Clint nodded. “Hey  _Puhn Yoh_ ,” he called over the counter to the man running the ice cream stall – once it was his turn of course, there was a bit of a line (but there always was when there was ice cream). “I'll have a double, mint and chocolate, in one of your plastic bowls please. Jean, what about you?”

“Same, please,” River answered with a smile.

“Make it two,” Clint said, and paid the man when they had two plastic bowls of ice cream with two plastic spoons.

“Not trying the ice planets?” Shepherd Book asked from behind them, amusement in his voice as he bought and paid for a vanilla ice planet.

“I'd take a bite and the rest would fall on the floor, I just know it would,” Clint answered resolutely, and dug into his chocolate scoop of ice cream.

Book chuckled at them, and demonstrated how to properly eat an ice planet as they walked back to the post office.

“Small one's for Cobb,” Amnon announced as their little party of three re-joined the others

“I got mail?” Jayne asked, surprised but pleased as he ducked around to pick up a decent-sized package. It was, however, clearly the 'small one', being as the 'big one' was even bigger than the cryo-box Simon had brought River aboard _Serenity_ in.

“Might we all want to step a few paces back before he opens that?” Book suggested as Jayne picked up the box and shook it.

“Ha ha,” Jayne snapped back. “It's from my mother,” he informed the priest.

“So, do aliens live among us?” Inara asked Kaylee with a smile.

“Yeah,” Kaylee answered, “and one of 'em's a doctor.”

River giggled as she ate another spoonful of ice cream.

“What kind of foetus was it?” Clint asked. “Cow? Horse? Sheep? Goat?”

“Got it right the first time,” Kaylee informed him with a crooked smile.

“My dear boy,” Jayne read aloud from his letter – slowly and with some deliberation. Either he wasn't used to reading, or his mother wasn't used to writing. Possibly both. “I hope you are well, and that you get this soon in your trav-els. Travels.” The word probably didn't all fit on the same line. “Thank you for the credits you for-war-ded as Mattie is still sick with the damp lung.”

“You got sick family?” Clint asked Jayne, a bit surprised. A family that had produced someone as healthy as Jayne, he'd figured wouldn't have any sort of chronic sickness in it.

“Yeah,” Jayne answered. “Should be able to afford the medicine Mattie needs now. It ain't cheap stuff.” Then he coughed and resumed his reading. “I made you the enclo- ooh! Enclosed!” he yelped quietly, and enthusiastically dug into the package.

A two-toned orange hat with a pom-pom on top and ear-flaps – clearly hand-knitted even if Jayne  _hadn't_ just read out that his mother had made it for him – was brought out. Jayne took a moment to admire the hat before he put it on and continued reading.

“- the enclosed to keep you warm on your... travels. Hope to hear from you soon, love, your mother,” he finished with a happy smile. “How's it sit?” he asked Kaylee. “Pretty cunning, doncha think?” he pressed.

“I think it's... the sweetest hat ever,” Kaylee answered with a smile.

“A man walks down the street in that hat,” Wash added, nodding and pointing to Jaynes hat as he looked around them all. “People know he's not afraid of anything.”

“Damn straight!” Jayne agreed proudly.

“Well,” Mal said as he and Zoe made to lift the lid off the large crate that had been sent to the two of them. “Let's hope _we_ get some funny hats too.”

There was another box inside the crate, and opening  _it_ up revealed a person, all neatly folded up to be buried.

“What did y'all order a dead guy for?” Jayne asked.

“Didn't,” Mal answered solemnly. “It doesn't make any kind of sense. Zoe?”

“I got nothing,” she answered. “But it's definitely Tracey.”

“You know this guy?” Wash asked as Mal nodded in agreement.

“Is it a warning of some kind?” Inara asked, very worried – and with reason. They _had_ just come off of dealing with Niska very recently, and he wasn't the _only_ enemy that _Serenity_ 's crew had in the verse.

“Listen, Mal, you gotta get this out of my station,” Amnon said with a gesture to the crate and its contents.

“Uh...”  
“No, no, no, no,” Amnon continued nervously. “Human transport through the postal system is very, very illegal. If anyone even _knows_ I took a corpse in, I'll lose my franchise,” he explained.

“Well who sent it?” Mal asked as he and Zoe shifted the lid back in place to hide the disturbing discovery.

“I don't know, there's no return,” Amnon answered.

“How long has it been here?” Zoe asked.

“Near a week, that's why I waved you,” Amnon replied. “This _can't_ stay here,” he emphasised in a desperate whisper.

“He don't smell,” Jayne noted.

“I know,” Mal agreed. “Been decently preserved.”

“Or he's playing possum,” Clint suggested and stepped up with a knife.

“What do you think you're doing?” Zoe asked dangerously.

“Been dead over a week? He won't bleed,” Clint answered, and shifted the lid back off again. He made a tiny cut on the back of the man's hand. Bright red blood blossomed there. Clint looked up at Amnon. “Well, you didn't move a corpse. He's warm even,” he offered, then noticed that the faker was holding something. He pried it out and passed it up to Zoe before he pulled the lid back on top of the guy.

“How do ya _fake_ bein' dead so well you can stash yerself in a coffin f'r a _week_ and not _die_?” Jayne asked.

“Drugs,” River answered simply. “Specific cocktail. Not difficult, or even expensive.”

They listened as a recording left by the man explained that he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, and he was asking for them to carry him to his family home to be buried there.

“So he's not dead, he's _pretending_ to be, and we're the ones going to suffer for it when this wrong crowd he's fallen into comes lookin' for him,” Mal said unhappily.

“He _still_ can't stay here!” Amnon insisted.

“Yeah,” Mal agreed. “You need your deniability to be able to stay in business. I get it. Zoe, let's get him to the ship. We'll deal with Tracey's 'wrong crowd' when they catch up with us,” he decided.

“JARVIS, see what you can find on this guy?” Clint requested into his comm unit. He'd had to rebuild it after it got fried while he was being electrocuted by Niska, but he still never left the ship without it.

“Of course Sir,” the AI agreed.

It took a few minutes to get back to the ship with the crate – and the man inside it – and by that time, JARVIS had found something.

“Well?” Mal enquired as he, Zoe, Wash, Jayne and Clint all trekked up towards the bridge. Didn't want to be having this particular conversation in the open cargo bay.

“Mr Tracey is smuggling organs,” JARVIS explained. “For a Lieutenant Womack, a deeply unpleasant Alliance agent, and he wants them back. The original deal was to replace the smuggled organs with his own on Ariel, but there was a better offer, which was killed rather violently by Womack. The man has gone to rather incredible lengths to make sure his side-job, if it can be called that – has gone unnoticed by any federal officer not directly under him, and now...”

“He'll be happy to take back the parts and leave Tracey to rot for the double-cross,” Mal finished unhappily. “Tracey never was too bright.”

“What do we do?” Zoe asked.

“Well, we've got options,” Mal mused. “We can take Tracey to his folks on Saint Alban's, hope we make it before this Womack guy catches up, or we can sit tight until he shows up lookin' for 'im.”

“And then?” Wash pressed.

“Well, then we got more options. Hand over Tracey and hope Womack will let us go on our merry, or get into a gunfight with the law.”

“Should I report that, at this very moment, Lieutenant Womack is threatening Mr Amnon?” JARVIS enquired.

“Guess he'll be here in a few minutes then,” Mal said with a sigh. “Amnon's only going to be able to keep going if he sends them our way.”

“You might want to put your cunning hat away where it won't likely get caught in the crossfire,” Clint suggested to Jayne.

“Yeah,” the man agreed.

“Arm up _subtle_ like,” Mal ordered as Jayne headed down to his bunk. “No need to be antagonistic from the get-go. After all, this man has gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure his extra-curricular organ-dealing has gone unnoticed until now.”

“He's also eight sectors out of his jurisdiction,” JARVIS offered.

“No one around here's gonna miss him then,” Mal said with a smirk. “We're getting the idiot home.”

Wormak and his two flunkies were welcomed aboard – and the cargo bay doors, and the airlock doors, closed behind them.

They were politely spaced not a full ten minutes later, and a course was plotted for Saint Alban's.

~oOo~

Clint had set up a small archery range in the cargo hold and was enjoying a bit of time with his favourite weapon. Just him, the bow, the arrow, the target... and River running around setting up  _more_ targets in odd places for him to shoot at from wherever he stood when he went to retrieve the arrow's he'd shot into the  _last_ target.

Well, that's what he was doing until Mal called everybody else down there too. Inara had a job for them. Or rather, her friend Nandi did.

It was going to be a bit of charity on their part since there wouldn't be much paying.

“Those who had a mind are welcome to join,” Zoe explained for Mal – he'd apparently explained it all to her before everybody else got word of it. “Those who prefer to stay on the ship are welcome to do that too.”

“Hmm,” Jayne hummed, drawing everybody's attention. He even raised his hand, fingers twitching. “I don't see much benefit in gettin' involved in a stranger's business without an up-front price negotiated,” he said.

“These people need assistance,” Shepherd Book said softly. “The benefit wouldn't necessarily be for you.”

“That's what I'm sayin',” Jayne replied.

“It's not like we're hurting for cash,” Clint pointed out.

“This is more in line with delivering Tracey to his folks and spacin' some bent feds,” Mal joined in.

“No one's going to force you to go, Jayne,” Zoe added. “As has been stated, this job is strictly speculative.”

“Good. Don't know these folks, don't much care to,” Jayne said.

“They're whores,” Mal offered frankly.

“I'm in,” Jayne stated, abruptly changing his tune.

“So you _won't_ be watching the ship then?” Clint asked with a smirk.

“Wash, plot a course,” Mal instructed as he fought a smile of his own in amusement at Clint's jibe – and that was the signal to disperse.

“Does she get a gun for this venture?” River asked Clint when it was just them left, a hopeful smile on her face.

“If you want one, then of course you do,” he answered her.

“From Hawkeye's collection?”

Clint chuckled. “Well, unless  _you_ have a collection of guns you're not telling anybody about, or you can persuade Jayne to share with you...” he answered with a smile.

River shook her head, and the two of them packed up the targets Clint had been shooting at then headed up to his bunk to pick which weapons River would get to use.

A couple of hours later and Wash announced that they were landing.

Clint saw the shiny building in the distance and promptly turned back into the cargo bay.

“Hey, where are you going?” Kaylee asked.

“To park us _closer_ ,” Clint answered over his shoulder. “They've got a pregnant woman there right? If the situation gets bad, it might be an idea to have the slightly advanced medical room less than a click away.”

“Oh... right...” both Kaylee and Wash said softly.

Wash hurried back up to the bridge after Clint to help with the hop.

“Might as well save the walkin' then,” Mal said, and headed back up the ramp into the cargo bay. The rest of the crew followed him, and soon enough _Serenity_ was set down with the cargo bay doors less than ten metres from the shiny building's back entrance.

“How come it looks like a frozen dinner pack?” Jayne asked as he stepped out of the cargo bay and looked up at the building.

“Solar sheeting,” Kaylee answered. “Cheap power.”

Jayne didn't get to say anything else as some of the women came out to greet them.

“Nandi, darling,” Inara said as she walked straight up to one of the women who'd come out and hugged her tight.

“It's so good to see you again _Mei-Mei_ ,” the woman Inara had called Nandi answered.

“You look _wonderful_ ,” Inara complimented as they separated.

“And you look exactly as you did the day I left. How do you do that out here?”

“Sheer force of will,” Mal answered her.

“Nandi, this is Malcolm Reynolds,” Inara introduced.

“I appreciate your coming,” Nandi said, and offered him her hand to shake.

“Well any friend of Inara's,” Mal answered with a slight smile as he shook it. “This is my first mate, Zoe,” he continued with a gesture to the woman in question. “I can introduce you to the rest later, they're good folk.”

“Can I start gettin' sexed already?” Jayne asked as he walked up to and greeted another of the young women of the establishment.

“Well, that one's kinda horrific,” Mal allowed quietly.

“Can we talk business?” Inara suggested.

“Through here,” Nandi said with a gesture. “The rest of you, there's food and some liquor in the sideboard of the main room. Please make yourselves at home,” she offered over Inara's shoulder, then turned to lead her friend, the captain, and Zoe through to one of the rooms.

“Look, they got boy whores,” Kaylee noted softly to Clint as they went inside. “Wonder if they service girl-folk at all?”

“Won't know if you don't ask,” Clint pointed out.

“Isn't there a pregnant woman I'm supposed to examine?” Simon asked nervously. He was still _so_ Core.

“You'd really lie with someone being paid for it?” Wash asked Kaylee curiously.

“Well, it's not like anyone else is linin' up to, you know, _examine_ me,” she answered.

Clint sighed. “I  _am_ sorry about that Kaylee,” he said. “I just...”

“It's okay,” she assured him. “You explained. You're just not completely over the intimacy issues Loki loaded you down with. You made me feel special for a while anyway.”

Clint smiled back.

Jayne disappeared up some stairs with the blonde he'd already taken a shine to.

“You'd be the doctor?” one young woman asked Simon as she led _another_ young woman out – a young woman who was holding her very round middle.

“They can tell by looking at you,” Clint informed Simon dryly.

“Yes,” Simon agreed with the young woman – and ignored Clint. “This is Petaline?” he asked, looking across to the pregnant girl. He'd gotten some of the poignant details from Inara already.

“Yes Sir,” she answered.

“She's feeling a bit weak right now,” the first girl supplied.

“Let's get you lying down. We can do that in your room or in the medical bay on the ship...” Simon offered as he moved to offer physical support to Petaline.

Poor old Book was looking at what succour there was for the non-sexual appetites when a couple of the girls approached him, genuinely looking for some spiritual guidance.

“Everybody's got somebody,” Kaylee lamented softly. “Someone tell me I'm pretty.”

“If I were not married, I would take you in a manly fashion,” Wash stated.

“'Cause I'm pretty?” Kaylee pressed.

“'Cause you're pretty,” Wash agreed solemnly.

“Ditto, but supplementing 'still screwed over' for 'married',” Clint offered.

“Could approach one of the women here for assistance in getting past such issues,” River pointed out.

Clint shrugged. Honestly, there was a fair-sized part of him that wondered if Loki wouldn't show up if he tried that. “Doesn't matter right now,” he said instead of voicing that set of concerns. “We have a house to make ready for a fight.”

“Not even waitin' on word from the captain?” Kaylee asked, surprised.

“Options are take everybody onto _Serenity_ and run for it or stay and fight it out,” River stated. “Not likely to surrender pride by running at this stage.”

“Right,” Kaylee agreed.

Clint waved over the two young men who were reclining on the couch not ten feet from them. “We are going to need planks of wood, big rocks, and what have you got for water out here?”

“There's an underground well...” one of the two answered, slightly confused. “Pump is old but it works.”

“I'll see what I can do about making it something we can use in case the bad guy tries to set the place on fire,” Kaylee said firmly. “Just lemme get my tools from _Serenity_ , and then you can show me where.”

“Why do you need wood and stone?” the other young man asked as his friend went with Kaylee.

“Cover,” Clint answered shortly. “Anything that will slow a bullet down will help stop it from going right through you. _Dohn-ma_?”

The young man swallowed, nodded, and the construction of the fortifications began. Around them, the other residents caught on to what was starting, and got in on the act as well.

“I didn't expect so few members of the crew to be taking payment in our trade,” Nandi commented to Clint as she held up a plank for him to nail in place.

“Well, we've got a married couple who probably aren't interested in including a third in their fun, a Shepherd took vows of chastity,” Clint started, “a doc who _desperately_ needs to unwind but seems completely unable to without there being large amounts of liquor involved, and of course he's busy helping a very pregnant young woman right now.”

Nandi smiled. “We're grateful for that too,” she said.

Clint smiled tightly back. “Captain is hung up on Inara,” he continued, “but is too much of a man and too well-diverted by Inara always going on about how any relationship they have is strictly business to have noticed that she's hung right back...”

“Really?” Nandi asked curiously, an intrigued smile on her face.

Clint nodded. “Of course, she doesn't let that stop her from working, or from enjoying her work I dare say,” he added. “Which helps with putting Mal off that she's at all romantically interested in him. My  _Mei-Mei_ Jean... well, let's just say she and I have  _both_ had some unpleasant experiences in our lives that make us a little more tentative about intimacy, especially with strangers.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Nandi commiserated gently.

“I think Jeanie is more interested in watching the baby being born anyway,” Clint offered with a crooked smile. “Which leaves Jayne, who is _very_ enthusiastic, and Kaylee, who's lonely but currently focused on the jobs that need to be done and not even sure if the young men you've got here service women.”

Nandi smiled. “We don't really  _get_ female customers,” she hedged. “But, saying yes or no is up to them, and I don't really see 'em turning the pretty mechanic down.”

Clint lifted a hand to his comm unit. “You copy that Kaylee?” he asked.

“I copy,” Kaylee answered happily. “Gonna have to wait until after though. Lot of work to do between now and everythin' bein' over.”

“Those are nifty little things,” Nandi commented with surprise.

Clint smirked back and grabbed a new plank to nail in place.

“Petaline will need a guard,” River informed Clint as she came down the hall towards them. “Risk of paternal contribution to the child attempting a kidnapping is high. Should also have a better hiding spot to deliver the baby.”

“You volunteering _Mei-Mei_?” Clint asked her.

“Wishes to see the child born,” River answered with a shrug. “Will not be main fighting area, but will still be important. She will protect,” she finished with resolve.

Clint smiled at her and reached out.

River stepped easily into his embrace.

Clint kissed her forehead. “No power in the 'verse can stop you,” he said fondly.

River smiled up at him, hugged him quickly, then skipped off.

“That looked like intimacy to me,” Nandi noted.

“She's my _Mei-Mei_ ,” Clint answered. “You won't really catch me doing that with anybody else. I mean, Kaylee and I tried for a little while, but...” Clint half-explained, then eye-balled the beautiful woman with her painted red lips and artfully curled hair. “Do you _want_ me in your bed?” he asked, a little incredulously.

Nandi lifted an eyebrow. “Even a woman has needs,” she pointed out.

“I understand that,” Clint answered with a shake of his head as he turned back to his work. “I guess I'm just wondering why me,” he said.

“Like you said, one of the men is married, the captain is hung up on Inara, the doctor is busy, the Shepherd has taken vows that don't let him indulge, and the only other male member of your crew is enjoying company with all the other girls. I _might_ have tried seducing the captain, but if Inara is as hung up on _him_ as _he_ is on _her_ , then... No. I couldn't _knowingly_ do that to my _Mei-Mei_ ,” Nandi explained.

Clint raised an eyebrow at her. “Touching,” he said. “But might I suggest you leave your womanly needs until  _after_ we've survived the imminent altercation?”

Nandi nodded in acceptance.

The house was pretty well fortified when Mal returned from meeting the bastard who was determined that Petaline's baby was  _his_ , and therefore his _property_ .

“Well, I _was_ going to suggest that we pack everybody up onto _Serenity_ and run for it,” Mal said when he saw the changes that had been made to the landscape. “Man like Burgess, you can turn him away once, but he'll keep comin', and won't stop until he gets what he thinks is his. Besides which the math don't add up. We ain't got _nearly_ the fire power he does. Like Nandi said, he keeps his money so he can have all the best toys for playin' cowboy with.”

“It took me _years_ to cut this bit of territory out of other men's hands and build this business up from nothing,” Nandi informed Mal firmly. “This is my home, my life, and _who I am_. I was _never_ going to run. Rance Burgess is just a man, and I won't let any man take what's mine,” she said fiercely. “I appreciate that you wouldn't have completely cut your losses with us though, just left us completely on the drift,” she added.

Mal nodded. “Well, that's my kinda stupid,” he decided. “And I see you folks have been makin' ready for the only other available course of action that don't involve back-stab-er-y.”

“We had help,” Nandi said with a fond smile in Clint's direction.

“Hawkeye?” Mal asked.

Clint waved off the attention as much as he could. “I was  _hardly_ the only one with a hammer in my hand today,” he said.

“Can't think that Burgess would be expectin' much of a fight anyhow,” Jayne offered. “Hell, we may even be able to catch him with his drawers low.”

“Only women wear drawers, Jayne,” Clint said. “Men wear shorts.”

“Whatever.”

“He'll probably ride in by daylight,” Zoe said as she pulled out her mare's leg and checked it. “But I figure... three point watch, four hour shift,” she suggested, and smiled at her captain. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“Three point, four hour,” Wash agreed. “Should do it.”

“And we can keep working on the fortifications in that time,” Book added with a smile. He'd been helping out with the hammering that day as well.

“We start shootin', he's like to try and burn us out, save his men some sweat and bullets,” Mal said.

“Already had a look at the water supply Captain,” Kaylee said. “Got it all rigged to go if we're needful of it.”

“Good,” Mal approved with a nod. “Well -”

“It's starting,” River announced with a grin. She grabbed Simon and skipped out of the room.

“Wha-? Oh! It's starting!” Mal yelped, panicked by the very thought. “Where is the girl anyway?”

“Safe,” Clint answered, deliberately vaguely. “Jean's her security detail, her little genius mind figured out someone must have been telling Burgess about Petaline's condition and doesn't want _anyone_ but herself, the doc, Nandi and Inara knowing where she's been put.”

“There's a _mole_ in this buildin' somewhere?” Jayne asked, incredulous.

Clint nodded gravely. “Thirty pieces of silver is a lot of money to some people,” he pointed out.

“We know how much they're bein' paid?” Mal questioned.

Clint shook his head.

“A biblical reference,” Book supplied, surprise in his voice. “I didn't know you -”

“Learned to read from it,” Clint cut him off. “I'll take first watch,” he offered, and stood up, not letting anybody ask him anything further.

Zoe may have recommended a three point watch, but Clint still took the highest ground he could with the best view of the  _entire_ surrounding area - and he took his bow and arrows up with him. It wasn't fifteen minutes after he took his watch that he spotted a figure scurrying across the landscape through the shadows.

He knocked an arrow and let fly. The arrow dropped the figure when they tried to take another step and found they couldn't due to a shaft through the foot pinning them in place.

“I do believe I've found our mole,” Clint reported into his comm unit. “Jean, you'll be needed for this interrogation I think. Might want Nandi as well. How's the mother?”

“Not yet dilated enough,” River answered. “Doctor Mallard says it will be a long night. Will fetch Nandi and the wounded canary.”

“Copy,” Clint answered, and waited, still watching the entire surrounds even as he kept half an eye on the person he'd downed until River and Nandi appeared and took the person inside. When his four hours were up, he headed down into _Serenity_ and collected the arrow he'd fired from where River had left it – cleaned – on his side table. Put it back in his quiver, then lay out his weapons for easy re-arming in the morning.

The next day, Clint had the roof for the confrontation that it had been confirmed was coming. It was the highest point available without riding on top of  _Serenity_ while she flew over to provide some distraction to the invading force. Kaylee and Wash were aboard already and prepping for take off.

“We got imminent violence!” Clint announced into his comm unit. “Thirty men mounted and armed, as well as a _very_ big gun on the back of that hover craft.”

“That gun is going to be our first hurdle,” Mal's voice came through the comm.

“How about I jump it early then?” Clint suggested, and picked up his sniper rifle. That distance, there was no way he'd be getting the arrow back in any sort of shape for using again. A bullet would do.

“If you can make it, then take it,” Mal advised.

“And I will be _damned_ impressed if you can,” Jayne added.

“Hawkeye never misses,” River reminded them all. She hadn't been seen since she'd disappeared with the doc last night, but she was wearing her comm.

Clint smirked, brought the rifle up, sighted, fired.

“I am _damned_ impressed,” Jayne announced when the man standing at the gun fell from his post with a hole neatly in the centre of his forehead.

The horsemen all reared back a moment in shock. They  _clearly_ hadn't expected to be fired upon at all, especially not when they were still that far out.

“Okay folks, we got no shortage of ugly riding down on us, but that don't change the plan,” Mal announced to all the women around him holding guns. And the comm link. His comm unit _also_ picked up what Nandi, who was with him, had to say on the matter.

“Anybody here goes down, you drag 'em to the back and get back to shootin',” the woman said firmly. “Only way to help them is to finish this.”

“Wash,” Mal called, “we're gonna be properly trading bullets in under two minutes. You clear for take off?”

“Confirmed,” Wash answered. “Hawkeye, you might want to duck. We're about to come right over you.”

“They're in range of the long barrels,” Clint announced. “And consider me part of the roof.”

_Serenity_ lifted off the ground.

“Open fire!” Mal ordered as she flew out over the enemy, engines at high burn as Wash kept her low and slow, causing more trouble for the horsemen and even some for the hovercraft.

Carefully picked shot after carefully picked shot, Clint took his targets down systematically. Other shots fired from the lower levels saw more guys falling.

“Jayne? Hawkeye? I lost visual on Burgess!” Mal yelled frantically.

“Same here,” Jayne answered.

“Gone around the back,” Clint supplied. “Little mole must have found out where Petaline was being hid, and ratted.”

“What's the status back there?” Mal asked. Defending that baby was why they were all even _on_ this planet.

“Shiny,” River's voice answered.

“Do I detect dark satisfaction in your voice _Mei-Mei_?” Clint asked.

“Burgess does not seem to appreciate that even a ninety-pound little girl can exert two-hundred pounds of force where it hurts and has no qualms about pointing a gun at his head,” River answered.

“Nothing like ballet to teach a girl to kick,” Clint said with a chuckle, and shot another man.

“Seems to be the last of 'em,” Mal announced a few minutes later.

“JARVIS,” Clint said into his comm as he packed up. “Would you please see to the redistribution of Burgess' funds? Leave some for his wife to live on, but split the rest between _Serenity_ 's account and Nandi's.”

“Certainly Sir,” JARVIS agreed.

“Kid got a name?” Mal asked over the comms.

“Petaline has chosen to call her son Jonah,” River reported. “Child is healthy and presently feeding.”

“Sounds like a plan for all of us,” Zoe suggested. “It's been a while since breakfast by now.”

“Gotta make sure none of Nandi's people got hurt too bad first,” Mal said firmly. “There was some return fire in there after all. Doc, get your supplies together. Hawkeye, you too. Got more'n a few bullet-holes in folk I wager.”

There  _were_ a few people with holes in them. Extremely painful holes, but nothing life-threatening, thankfully. Simon had to suffer through his patients flirting with him once they were stitched up though. Clint, by dint of not being one to administer any sort of pain medication beyond a glass of something alcoholic, was  _not_ so readily flirted with.

Nandi still approached him when his jobs were done.

“Your little sister is quite something,” she said as she slid down to sit next to him. “Way Petaline tells it, Jean went from congratulating her on a boy to kicking Burgess into a new octave without even blinking. Terrified the doc when she pulled a gun on the man too. I think even Inara was surprised.”

“Well, Mallard's a _Buhn Dahn_ who gets Jean confused with a helpless little girl,” Clint told her. “I grant it's the first time Jean's held a gun with purpose, but it sure as _Ai Yah Tien Ah_ isn't the first time she'd ever held a gun.”

He'd made sure of that. After all, if River was willing to clean his sword and set up targets for him to shoot arrows at, then she was damned well going to know her way around the more standard weaponry. Her sessions just happened at a  _different_ time to Simon's.

“As for Inara's reaction... Well, most of the time she spends with Jean they're in the kitchen watching me cook, or braiding each other's hair,” Clint added with a chuckle.

Nandi contemplated that for a little while, then apparently decided to discard the matter in favour of something else. “So...” she said with the beginnings of a seductive smile on her very red-painted lips. “The battle is over now, we've won. Think you can help a girl see about satisfying her needs?” she asked.

Clint blinked at her. Now, here was an attractive woman, a whore granted, ready and willing for some service – and here was him, a healthy male who  _hadn't_ been a virgin  _before_ Loki had raped him, but who was a paranoid bastard in general and hadn't had intimate relations with so much as his own hand since. Trauma was a terrible thing for a person's libido.

On the other hand...

Clint heaved a sigh and turned to face the wall across from where he sat. “I suppose I have to get past the trauma some time,” he said. Then he looked back at Nandi. “I hope you'll excuse me if I keep a loaded gun on hand though.”

“Just as long as you don't shoot _me_ with it,” Nandi agreed with a smile as she stood up and, with a sultry smile, started to sashay towards the door – where she paused and threw Clint a 'come hither' look over her shoulders.

Clint pushed himself up from where he'd been sitting, and followed the woman through to her rooms.


	12. Chapter 12

They were back out in the black, and Clint was glad of it. Jayne may have been missing the company of the women they'd helped out, and Kaylee may have been a lot more cheerful – and even open to Simon's poor attempts at flirting – after finally getting some attention for herself from Nandi's boys, but... Well, Nandi had been able to help him through a few issues, and he'd managed to see  _her_ needs fulfilled, but Clint himself hadn't exactly been comfortable enough in that situation to actually  _perform_ , as such.

And Loki had shown up before they'd left atmo. Just specifically to remind him that  _anything_ Clint needed, Loki was  _his willing slave_ .

Clint was just glad it was only him and River when Loki had made his appearance, and that Loki hadn't hung around.

Right now, Clint had brought some of his bigger weapons down to the cargo bay where he could spread out on the floor without being in anybody's way and run some maintenance. He was working on his Savage 110 BA when River's foot was suddenly on top of his Colt M1911 pistol. Of course, she removed her foot – delicately, and bent at the waist, folded in half so that her face hovered a foot above the ground as she examined the weapon.

Clint smiled to himself at the completely fascinated look on her face, and kept cleaning his weapons. She'd handled his stuff before. He didn't have an issue with it. Weapons care for him was mindless work. He didn't think. He just did. It was an activity that had been drilled into him so thoroughly that he – and probably anybody else who'd ever been really properly  _drilled_ in weapons care – could do it in their sleep. Everything was automatic. It could be likened to sort of meditation even.

Which was why he was doing it in the first place.

Slowly, River picked up the gun. She held it properly but loosely, her finger off the trigger but just a twitch away from being ready to fire if she needed to. Slowly, River straightened up again.

“It's just an object,” she said as she studied it, her voice soft. “It doesn't mean what you think.”

Suddenly, a lot of very  _loud_ voices were all around, talking frantically.

Simon. “River, that's not to be touched!”

Kaylee. “Stay calm!”

Inara. “Stop yelling at her!”

Mal. “River?! Sweetheart! You want nothin' to do with that! Put it down!”

Simon. “What were you thinking? Where did you get ahold -!”

“I'm not mad, I just -” Mal reached out, grabbed the gun by the barrel and took it from River. He checked the weapon. “Not loaded,” he declared with relief.

Clint put his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply, drawing people's attention to the fact that he was right there, sitting on the floor surrounded by his weapons – and in fact holding one himself – as well as the tools for cleaning them.

“Can I have my gun back please?” he asked, and held out his hand for it.

Mal set it into Clint's palm without a word. “Does she understand that playing with guns isn't a safe thing?” he asked.

“River has never _played_ with guns,” Clint answered solemnly.

“She understands,” River supplied. “She doesn't comprehend.”

“Well I'm glad we've made _that_ distinction,” Mal grumbled sarcastically.

“She understands that the gun isn't a toy,” he explained. “She fails to comprehend why you're all making such a fuss, and frankly neither do I,” Clint added as he rolled his eyes at his captain and gently tugged River over and down to sit beside him.

River nodded. “It's getting very, very crowded,” she told Clint unhappily as she sank down next to him with her face in her hands.

“Right. Then if all of you could please think of pink elephants and dancing weasels, but quietly and elsewhere, it would be very much appreciated,” Clint said. “Miss Genius? I haven't cleaned the Remington Model 1858 yet. You want to do that one?”

“What?!” Simon yelped.

“Pink elephants and dancing weasels _elsewhere_ , Doc,” Clint reminded him. “River's handled weapons before, or is your memory really that poor?”

“Cleaned the Ronin's sword after the duel, sharpened it before and after. Was given Hawkeye's Ruger LC9 for use defending Petaline,” River informed them as she wiped her eyes with one hand and reached for the gun indicated by Clint with the other.

“We're in deep space, corner of No and Where,” Mal said sharply. “What if -?!”

“Pink elephants and dancing weasels _elsewhere_ , Captain,” Clint repeated just as firmly. “There's no 'what if' here. Miss Genius knows her way around arms and munitions better than anybody else on this ship save _maybe_ me, and I've been trained in all sorts of things since I was twelve and joined the circus.”

“She knows _modern_ arms _much_ better,” River informed him with a smile as she took a long, skinny brush to the barrel of the gun she'd been given to clean. “Hefalumps and woozles are very confuzles. A heffalump or woozle's very sly,” she hummed.

“What's that?” Mal asked, confused.

Clint chuckled. “It's a song that goes with a cartoon of soft-toy elephants and weasels dancing,” he explained.

“And where would River have learned something like that?” Simon asked.

“My brain?” Clint suggested easily, as though it were completely obvious.

“What?” Simon pressed, confused.

“Girl's a gorram Reader,” Mal informed Simon flatly, piecing everything together faster than Simon. Then sighed and turned. “Hawkeye, don't be too long with that. Jayne an' the Shepherd are makin' everybody protein waffles for dinner tonight,” he reminded absently as he walked off.

“Protein waffles?” Clint jokingly complained to River.

She giggled.

Clint smiled. “So...” he started as he finished cleaning the sniper rifle and picked up his left-handed uzi ( _actually_ modified for better handling in his left than right hand). “It's getting very, very crowded?” he asked.

River leant her head on Clint's shoulder as she continued to meticulously clean the pistol in her hands. “Everyone is thinking loudly,” she answered softly.

“Ah.”

“Except Hawkeye,” River corrected. “Silence in meditative state of weapons care. It is a relief. A vacuum among projections. Safe.”

Clint smiled down at her fondly and kept working through his weapons.

Once every weapon was cleaned, every blade sharpened, every arrow and every bowstring checked for wear, they packed it all up together and carried everything back to Clint's bunk. When every weapon was stowed, it was to the dining area for a dinner of protein waffles.

“So how long until we reach a planet where we can restock on _real_ food again? Since we seem to be relegated to heavily processed and _Yong Chwen Mien_ _Go shi_ ,” Clint observed as he ate.

“It's usin' the stuff before the expiry date again,” Jayne answered firmly. “An' we can't all be _Feng Le_ in the kitchen like you.”

“We're only about a week from New Melbourne,” Wash added.

“Seafood,” River stated.

Clint moaned in anticipation. “Shellfish and crustaceans, fresh fish...” he said with longing, getting a lot of laughter. After dinner was over, Clint and River were on clean up while Mal watched them and everybody else headed off to do their own thing.

“Miss Genius, you said the gun was 'not what you think',” Clint commented as he passed her a plate to dry – he had his hands in the sink. “Said it was just an object.”

“ _Shi Ma?_ ” River teased.

Clint chuckled. “ _Shi_ ,” he agreed. “What was it really?” he asked softly.

“Bent stick,” River answered, “broken off, some leaves still attached. It was simply a solid of shape and weight, ascribed meaning and function that it was not fulfilling, so it was not what it was.”

“And that's just...” Mal said with a sigh and pushed himself out of his chair. “River, I'm sorry for doubting you with the gun. I forgot for a bit there that you weren't just a little girl.”

River smiled at him. “Genius,” she stated. The smile melted from her face. “Violated by the Company and trained to be obedient Operative. Fortunate to have been freed,” she said, and the smile came back to her face. “Freedom in  _Serenity_ ... Crowded sometimes by loud and pressing thought.”

“Don't think there's much we can do about that,” Mal offered apologetically as he headed to the door towards his bunk.

“She has a refuge,” River assured him, and looked over at Clint with a smile.

“Right,” Mal agreed, and left them alone to finish their chore.

Later, much later, River had climbed into Clint's bed again. It wasn't as common an occurrence as it had been back in those first few weeks, but Clint still didn't raise an eyebrow – let alone a fuss – at the intrusion. He just shifted over a bit to make room for her, made sure she was tucked in, and wrapped an arm around her middle before he went back to sleep.

“ _Sir_!” JARVIS called loudly, snapping Clint awake.

“What?!” he gasped as he sat up.

“I have been _trying_ to wake you for some minutes Sir,” JARVIS reprimanded.

“Deaf in one ear and for some reason I sleep deeper when River's here,” Clint answered. “What's the fuss?”

“An intruder on the ship,” JARVIS reported. “He has concussed the captain, locked all the bunk doors, and bound Miss Frye after threatening rape. He has also concussed Shepherd Book and is presently threatening the doctor with a weapon.”

“JARVIS,” Clint said tiredly. “You wouldn't have woken me up if you couldn't open the bunk door, would you?”

“I can,” JARVIS agreed. “Oh, but the man is apparently a bounty hunter, called 'Early', and after Miss Tam and her brother...” he added. “Which is why he is threatening the doctor with a weapon.”

Clint sighed. “Right,” he said. “In that case, get someone else to go help Kaylee, and I'll wait for the bounty hunter to come to me. And relay audio feed of wherever the guy is? I want to hear him coming.”

“Very wise, Sir,” JARVIS agreed.

“I've been tracking you since the bounty got posted, and that hasn't been easy,” the unfamiliar male voice said. Presumably the bounty hunter Early. “She sleep with anybody?” he asked suddenly.

“River?” Simon's voice came back, incredulous.

“Yeah. She grapple with any of the crew? Might be in their quarters,” Early suggested.

“Grapple is inappropriate terminology,” River stated with sleepy softness. “Might be fun though,” she added as she opened her eyes slowly and smiled teasingly at Clint. “See if the little girl can do better than Companion-trained Nandi.”

“She might be but not for _that_ reason!” Simon answered sharply after a moment of speechlessly offended thought. “Sometimes when she has nightmares about the people _you want to take her back to_ , she goes to someone other than me for comfort.”

“Hm,” Early grunted/hummed in acknowledgement.

“Of course, it's just as likely she could be _anywhere_ on the ship,” Simon continued. “She likes to explore all the hidden places that _Serenity_ has. But I'm not going to help you find her, in any case.”

There was a sigh, and the faint creak of stiff clothing.

“I think this is very pretty,” Early said. “I like the weight of it.”

“I thought the intention was _not_ to kill me,” Simon answered, somewhere between nervous and calm. Clearly being threatened with a weapon once more.

“You're missing the _point_ ,” Early scolded. “The design of the thing – is functional,” he explained patiently. “The _plan_ is not to shoot you. The _plan_ is to get the girl. If there's no _girl_ , well, then the _plan_ is like the room.” Clearly, they'd _missed_ some part of the conversation at the beginning. “You _are_ gonna help me look for her,” Early informed Simon solemnly.

“I don't think my last act in this 'verse is going to be betraying my sister,” Simon answered, resolved and firm. Convicted. That must have been what he sounded like when he was in the act of rescuing her from the Academy. An aspect of the Core bred doctor that no one else on the ship had yet gotten to see.

“You're gonna help me,” Early repeated. “Because every second you're with me is a chance to turn the tables,” he goaded softly. “Get the better of me. Maybe you'll find your moment. Maybe I'll slip. _Or_ , you _refuse_ to help me, I shoot your brain out, and I spend a little time _violating_ the little mechanic I got trussed up in the engine room. I take no pleasure in the thought -”

“Liar,” River interjected softly against the pillow her head was rested on.

“But she will die, _weeping_ , if you cross me,” Early finished.

“You're out of your mind,” Simon informed Early.

“That's between me and my mind,” Early answered. “Let's start with these rooms.”

“I actually agree with the doc. The man's insane. JARVIS?” Clint asked.

“Miss Serra was already awake and has freed Miss Frye,” JARVIS answered. “Miss Serra has also temporarily abandoned her shuttle to join Miss Frye in her bunk behind the secure lock and to comfort her after the traumatic confrontation.”

“Thank you JARVIS.”

“She doesn't come in here,” Simon said, and River and Clint both knew instantly that Simon had brought Early to the infirmary. It was the only part of _Serenity_ that River actively avoided. The doctor proved some of his foolishness by trying to _reason_ with the bounty hunter though. To try and make him feel _guilty_ about his work.

Early proceeded to counter with the suggestion that, if psychologists had to be psychoanalysed before they received their licences to practice, why shouldn't surgeons know the pain they'd be dealing with for  _their_ patients as well?

There was a period of silence, just the opening and closing of doors, and the creak of Early's clothes – which were probably a custom-made space suit. Proof against the vacuum but comfortable enough to move around in as well.

“They have entered the cargo bay,” JARVIS announced.

“Come on out, River,” Simon called softly and unenthusiastically. “The nice man here wants to kidnap you.”

“Shh!” Early scolded.

“Let them know where she is please JARVIS,” River said with a yawn.

“River?” Clint asked, surprised.

She rolled over and smiled up at him. “Trusts the Hawkeye to keep her safe,” she informed him contently. “Alternately, she could shoot him herself, or melt into the ship and resolve issue without violence. Send him spinning into space. Would need suit though. Leave  _Serenity_ to hide on Early's ship, trick him into leaving  _Serenity_ , send him spinning out into space.”

Clint thought about that for a moment. “We can send him spinning out into space after I've shot him,” he answered.

“Sir?” JARVIS enquired.

“Let the man know where River is 'hiding',” Clint answered the AI, and reached for his P30, all shiny and clean from the detailing earlier that evening, and loaded with a full clip as soon as he'd had it back in his bunk. Even so, he _still_ checked that the clip was full before he trained it on the ladder down into his room.

And they both listened.

“Doctor Tam?” JARVIS called.

“JARVIS?” Simon answered, surprised.

“What?” Early demanded.

“I am the artificial intelligence attached to _Serenity_ , Mr Early,” JARVIS answered. “Doctor Tam, your sister wished for me to convey to you her location.”

“She _what_?” Simon asked incredulously. “Does she have any _idea_ -?!”

“Of course she does,” JARVIS answered when Simon cut himself off. “She wishes for me to convey that she is presently in Mr Barton's bunk.”

“Nightmare,” River said softly as she sighed and burrowed closer to Clint's chest.

“Due to a nightmare,” JARVIS added smoothly.

Simon sighed helplessly.

“That makes everything _much_ easier,” Early said happily. “Which one is this 'Barton' guy in?”

“JARVIS, no!” Simon begged.

“Perhaps if you will tend to Shepherd Book, Doctor Tam, while I direct Mr Early to the correct room?” JARVIS suggested. “The Captain also has a concussion, I believe. You will need to see to him before too long as well.”

Clint smirked. The question was whether or not the doc could get himself to see to the injured over protecting his  _already protected_ little sister.

“Alright,” Simon answered the AI a little unhappily.

It wasn't long before the door to the bunk was unlocked and – rather than descending himself, Early called for River to come out.

“Told you where she was,” River called back. “Did not promise to _come quietly_ ,” she informed him dryly, disinterestedly. She'd actually dozed off again after telling JARVIS why she was in Clint's room in the first place.

There was a huffed sigh, a creak of leather, and the bounty hunter jumped down rather than climbing down the ladder.

Clint raised his gun and shot the black man in his red space-suit right between the eyes. Barely glanced at the invading body and still hit his target perfectly.

“Never misses,” River sighed happily and closed her eyes. “Safe.”

Clint chuckled and bent to kiss River's forehead. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But now I've got to get him out of here before he starts to stink the place up and leave messy pools of blood around. So, I've got to get up.”

River obligingly rolled away and disentangled her legs from Clint's. “ _Bai Tuo_ ,  _Uhn Jin Tee Dien_ ,” she informed the corpse. “He talked too much,” she added to Clint as he crossed the room.

Clint shook his head at her, and got on with the task of hauling a (literally) dead weight out of his bunk.

“JARVIS, let everyone who knew he was here know he's dead and spaced?” Clint requested once he'd hauled the man up into the nearest air-lock and gotten rid of the corpse.

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS answered. “Shall I also unlock all the doors?”

“I got it,” Clint answered easily, and pressed all the right buttons on his way passed the wall unit near the bunks.

“ _Sheh Sheh_ ,” River said softly as Clint climbed back into his bed. “For always protecting her. She knows it is _Yee Yan_.”

“No _Fuhn Pi_ in my bed, _dohn-luh-mah_?” Clint asked as he tucked River back into his side and pulled the sheets up over them both. “You're smile is _plenty_ reward. Now, _Go Hwong Tong_ , should be sleeping.”

“ _Shi Ma_?” River asked with a sleepy smile.  
“ _Shi_ ,” Clint answered firmly. “Pleasant dreams River.”

“Pleasant dreams, Clint,” she answered.

~oOo~

Inara left. She packed up everything that was hers in the shuttle that she rented, and when  _Serenity_ docked at New Melbourne she got off. Bought passage to somewhere else and just left. She didn't get away without saying goodbyes, of course. She needed some of the big strong men-types to help her shift her stuff out.

Clint got recruited for the task. He was best at looking respectable and was least likely to load Inara down with extra emotional complications at the parting.

“I do have a parting gift for you though,” Clint said once he'd finished shifting Inara's things into the cabin she'd been given on the ship that would take her out of New Melbourne. A great, big, (ugly) shiny Alliance vessel.

“Clint...” Inara half-heartedly scolded. She didn't need gifts.

“No,” he told her. “You're going to accept this _without_ objecting.” Clint produced the portable cortex access that he'd taken from Dobson back when he'd joined the crew, took Inara's wrist and twisted her hand so that it was palm-up, and slapped the device gently into it.

Inara looked at it, and then up to Clint, in confusion.

“JARVIS is installed on there,” Clint informed her with a smirk. “He'd be able to feed himself through the cortex to you wherever you end up settling, but this is easier.”

Inara smiled. “Thank you Clint,” she said softly. “I  _was_ going to miss everybody on  _Serenity_ , but I suppose JARVIS will be able to keep me updated.”

Clint nodded. “And the reverse is true too,” he added. “If you're ever in any kind of trouble, JARVIS will let us know faster than a wave, and the Captain will order us all to the rescue. You are, after all,  _part of the crew_ , all denials to the contrary notwithstanding.”

Inara looked up at Clint with a sort of unsure gratefulness as her fingers tightened around the device she'd been given.

“Just like you and the captain are in love with each other, all denials to the contrary notwithstanding,” Clint added lowly.

Inara pressed her painted lips together and swallowed tightly as a light of fear entered her eyes. “I -, Kaylee said the captain wanted me to stay, but... It would have complicated things,” she insisted softly. “My renting the shuttle was  _just_ a business arrangement. Mal doesn't -”

Clint placed a finger over Inara's lips to stop her from talking, a reprimanding expression on his face. “You and the captain,” he said, “are both very fond of keeping things simple. I have nothing against that. You might need reminding though that sometimes the things  _worth_ having  _can't_ be simple.”

“Thank you Clint,” Inara said softly. “I -” she hesitated. “I wish you all the best, Clint. With everything.”

Clint's face ticked up a wry, self-depreciating, crooked smile. “I take it you talked to Nandi about...”

“Companions _don't_ kiss and tell,” Inara answered firmly.

“But Nandi's not a Companion any more,” Clint pointed out.

“No,” Inara agreed. “And I only asked out of concern for you – and for Kaylee.”

Clint hung his head a little. “Yes, well, I have intimacy issues, and as much as I adore Kaylee... She deserves more happiness than  _I_ could give her. I think she might be beginning to find that in the doc,” he said. “I'm hardly going to begrudge her that.”

“You're a good person, Clint Barton,” Inara told him as she gently cupped his cheek in her hand, forcing him to look up and look her in the eye. “I'm glad I met you.”

“Likewise,” Clint answered. “Well... _Bao zhong_ , _Joo How Rin_ and _Yi Lu Shwen Fohn_ ,” he bid, then sketched a little bow and showed himself out.

New Melbourne was just a quick layover, the rest of the crew were collecting a tank of fish for one of the fine gentlemen Clint had made a business contact out of way back on that evening that had resulted in him killing Atherton Wing the next morning. As for him, Clint wanted to buy some seafood for the kitchen before they headed for Persephone again.

~oOo~

When they got to Persephone with the tank of fish – salmon, specifically – another of the fine gents Clint and Kaylee had talked business and engines to had work for them. The work took them right past one of the salvageable space-wrecks that JARVIS had on record, so they'd be able to get two jobs for the one when they made the delivery to the Jianyin meat market. Thankfully, it wasn't a whole heard of cows this time.

This time it was a flock of sheep – among them a pregnant ewe, who delivered while they were en route.

“Can we keep it?” Kaylee asked hopefully as she cradled the cleaned up lamb on her lap.

“Only in the cold box,” Mal answered apologetically.

Kaylee's smile fell right off her face.

“He's yours to cuddle until we hit Jianyin,” Clint said. “Lamb needs to grow a little before it can be made a meal of. Just don't name the little guy.”

Kaylee nodded sadly, and hugged the lamb a little closer for a moment.

When they got to Jianyin, Kaylee left the lamb with Clint and took a pile of cash. She was going to do some  _shopping_ to cheer herself up. River took a pile of cash too, came back with a large, thankfully  _docile_ bull and a pig. The two of them repeated their activities of their previous visit to Jianyin. Even went dancing again. Simon went (with Jayne this time) out to offer medical aid to people – including the folks who'd tried to kidnap him the last time  _Serenity_ was on Jianyin.

Kaylee returned to the ship with a beat-up thing she claimed was a transport that would come in handy for quick getaways. As soon as she'd fixed it up, which for a girl of her skill and with her resources was  _not_ hard.

From Jianyin they found work in a settlement called Haven, needed some work doing and were prepared to pay. Shepherd Book stayed behind when  _Serenity_ took off – and they left more than just  _one_ friend behind that day. Made lots of friends among the folk that were settled there. Having been able to supply them with some Gen-Seed and some Grade-A (highly processed) foodstuffs that they'd gotten off another wreck on their way to Haven probably helped.

There was work for them on Beaumont. Well, work for them  _from_ Beaumont.

“It's actually _on_ Lilac,” Mal explained when he returned to the ship and had everybody around the dinner table to explain the job to them. “We're stealing the cashy money sent by the Alliance to pay a contracted security firm. Kaylee, how's that mule you got on Jianyin?”  
“Shiny, Captain,” Kaylee answered with a smile. “You want to take it out for this one? 'Cause it's ready.”

“It will hold us _and_ the payload?” he checked.

“Four people, payload, yeah,” Kaylee agreed with a thoughtful nod. “ _Five_ an' the payload it wouldn't. Too heavy, slow you down, drag you inta the dirt.”

Mal nodded in understanding.

“She wishes to go on the job,” River announced softly as she helped Clint bring the food to the table from the cooking space.

Mal blinked at her. “But you just heard Kaylee say we can't  _have_ five people on the mule with the payload,” he said. “Me, Zoe, Jayne and Clint. That's four. Add you is five.”

“She will be useful,” River insisted. “Wants to do more as part of the crew.”

“Part of the crew,” Mal repeated softly, and blinked again. “Well, I suppose since you've been cover for a couple of salvage jobs with Clint,” he agreed. “Any of you three feel like sittin' this one out?” he asked, looking from Zoe to Jayne to Clint. “Should be a cakewalk for River to try her hand at. Not _as_ cakewalking as the salvages she's been cover for with Clint but...”

“I'll stay back,” Zoe volunteered. “Spend some quiet time with my mister while y'all are out there perpetratin' crime.”

“Yay!” River cheered happily, and plonked herself down on the chair between Clint and Kaylee.

“What? No!” Simon objected, it finally sinking in that River was being allowed to put herself at risk. “River, you're just a kid!”

“Seventeen,” River stated. “Young woman. Will be _eighteen_ by the time _Serenity_ reaches Lilac,” she added firmly. “Old enough to make her _own_ choices.”

“River -” Simon tried.

“No, Doc,” Clint cut him off. “You saved her from the Academy, that was grand of you, but if you think that gives you the right to _control_ River for the rest of her life, well, that's _Bai Rih Mohn_.”

“Especially since River's adapted better to life out here than _you_ have,” Jayne added with a smirk that bulged slightly around the food that he was chewing on one side of his mouth. “I _still_ don't get how you manage to look so damn Core when Clint's sold all your fancy duds.”

“Aura of _Suoyou De Dou Shidang_ ,” River supplied. “Still holds the opinion of _Gao Guhn_ up the collective _Pi Gu_ of the _Lien Mohn_ , despite what they did to her,” she added a little darkly.

“River...” Simon tried to whine.

“You're fightin' a losin' battle Doc,” Wash cautioned with a smirk of his own. “And with no backup to be had from any corner.”

This was very true. With no Inara or Shepherd Book on board, the only other person on board who was even _vaguely_ pro-Alliance _anything_ was Jayne. Then again, the only thing Alliance that Jayne was really actually in favour of was making money of what goods could be stolen from them.

Simon growled. “River, you're not going, and that's final,” he tried to order.

“I hear the words “that's final” come out your mouth ever again, they surely will be,” Mal informed Simon sharply.

“No power in the 'verse can – or _will_ – stop me,” River added, maybe just a little dangerously.

“Don't make your incapacitation a necessity, Doc,” Clint warned quietly. “I haven't worked as an _assassin_ for _some time_ _now_ , but the sort of training you get for a job like that, a person _never_ forgets.”

Simon swallowed nervously and silently returned to his meal.

A wise decision on his part. It seemed that he was  _finally_ learning. A little.

~oOo~

River was the designated driver for the job. Kaylee explained how she'd fixed up the controls and Wash discussed emergency get-back-to-the-ship tactics. Clint listened in with a content smile on his face as he checked over all the arrowheads he'd loaded his quiver with. He was taking his bow with him for  _this_ job. His P30 would be strapped to his thigh as well, but he wanted  _his favourite_ along for this job. If simply because they rarely  _had_ jobs where it was a reasonable weapon to carry. Then again, this job he probably wouldn't need it either.

Soon enough,  _Serenity_ had broken atmo and Wash had parked her. Mal, Jayne and Clint piled into the mule – River already in disguise and in the driver's seat – and they were off before Simon had a chance to object again or try and give her any instructions about keeping out of danger or leaving the others in the mule with her to die. And he wanted to. River  _knew_ he wanted to. That was why she'd moved it out before he had the chance to say anything.

“Clealy, you understand your part in all this,” Mal said as they drove off.

River smiled gleefully as she pushed the mule a little faster.

“Good driving _Mei-Mei_ ,” Clint complimented as River parked the mule.

“Alright then,” Jayne said happily as he stood up on the back seat, and pulled down the zipper on his coat to reveal his gun. “Let's be bad guys.”

River led the way in with Mal, and immediately shot out the security camera with the Desert Eagle that Clint had given her for the job. Didn't even turn or visibly look up at it. Just raised the large pistol and applied pressure to the trigger. Bang. No more video feed.

“Hands and knees and heads bowed down!” Mal ordered, his own gun drawn. He certainly had the commanding presence when he got to shouting orders. “Everybody down!” he ordered again, and pulled his gun on the white-haired man who had grabbed a gun of his own. Of course, Mal had _his_ pistol pointing at the guy's face, while _he_ was just cradling the weapon against his chest.

The old man froze where he stood.

Another guy, younger, tried to tackle Clint when he came in behind River and Mal – only to be clothes-lined, flipped over, and have his head forcibly introduced to the flooring. Not the most delicate, but Clint had been careful enough that it would only give the guy a concussion, not kill him.

Jayne moved to rip open the guy's shirt, which revealed the logo of the security firm they'd come to rob. “Guess we're in the right place,” he noted with a smirk.

“You want to all be lookin' very intently at your own belly-buttons,” Mal instructed as he waved his gun at the man, indicating for him to move. “We see heads start to rise, violence _is_ going to ensue. You've probably figured out we mean to be thieves, but what we're after is not yours, _so_. Let's have no undue fuss,” he requested.

Clint had moved from his position to the safe, a JARVIS-carrying bug in hand.

“This is _not_ in my original programming,” the AI complained.

“Nonsense,” Clint answered. “Stark had you hacking into stuff all the time. SHIELD and his competition to name just a few, if my memory serves.”

“I've unlocked it,” JARVIS announced with a sigh in his digital voice.

“Thank you,” Mal answered as he came up beside Clint.

Clint nodded deference to the captain and moved away to help River with keeping the civilians covered. Not that she needed it of course, but the people they were robbing didn't know that, and as Clint had pointed out to her before, “having a man who  _looks_ like he can toss a grown man over his shoulder will still  _always_ be helpful to the delicate-looking young lady who wants to  _dance_ more than she wants to kill.”

River moved through the people who were cowering on the floor and stopped beside one of them who did not have  _both_ hands on the floor, but one reaching for something in his belt. She cocked her gun and brought it to bear a scant breath away from his right ear.

“Only shot fired so far has been to kill the security feed. Only person injured was one who attacked first. Captain would like to _keep_ it that way,” River informed him evenly. “Should you attempt to use that, then these truths will be altered,” she added with almost apologetic whimsy.

The man sighed and quickly tossed his gun away from himself.

Clint caught it

“That don't hardly look like the sort of pay-day we can retire on,” Jayne commented when Mal opened the safe and peered in over his shoulder.

“If you were looking to retire, you just need to say the word,” Clint called.

“Settlin' down's appeallin' now an' then,” Jayne answered. “But I'd get bored outta my skull before too long, I'm sure I would.”

“Much as the idea of you breedin' terrifies me, havin' kids would keep that from happenin',” Mal informed the man at his shoulder as he reached into the safe and pulled a lever. The whole thing opened out and revealed a stairway down. “Listen!” Mal yelled down. “We're comin' down there to empty that vault!”

“You gotta give me your authorisation password!” another voice yelled back.

Jayne let off a few rounds into the top step.

There was a brief moment of silence before –

“Okay.”

Mal and Jayne went down, leaving River and Clint in charge of crowd-control up top.

“That was tidy,” Clint remarked to River.

...River who was staring into the middle distance before she jerked back suddenly, a violent yelp escaping her as she fell to the floor.

“Jean?” Clint asked as he hurriedly knelt down beside her, checking to make sure she was alright from the fall as much as asking what she'd seen. “What is it?”

“Reavers,” she breathed out in answer.

“Everybody on your feet!” Clint ordered sharply. “Now! On your feet. Hands on the shoulders of the next person!” he snapped as he helped River up off the floor. “Get the mule ready,” he ordered her more quietly.

River nodded and was out the door.

Clint grabbed the first person in the line, and the man he'd knocked out on the floor earlier, and dragged them to the vault.

“Captain, we got Reavers!” he yelled as he pulled the people down, single file behind him.

“This locks from the inside?” Mal asked the security man as Jayne got to packing the cash more quickly before he ran up the stairs and out with the bags of money.

The guard nodded.

“You close it up, you lock it, and you _don't_ open it up again while you still got air,” Mal instructed before he turned to Clint. “That all of 'em?”

“Yes Sir,” Clint answered as he pushed the last one in line off the bottom step, and then the two of them hurried out.

“Go!” Mal ordered River as he and Clint jumped onto the mule.

They'd just cleared the town when a small ship full of Reavers came into view behind them.

“Faster! Faster! Faster would be better!” Mal requested frantically.

River shifted gears.

“I'm re-thinking retirement right about now,” Jayne said as he brought up his gun.

Clint stood up in the front seat he was in beside River, selected an arrowhead, and drew the string of his bow. “Duck,” he ordered.

Neither Jayne or Mal bothered to question it, but went down immediately. After all, the Reavers were firing on  _them_ as well.

Clint released the arrow.

“What good is that gonna do?” Jayne demanded incredulously. “An' _you_ made me leave my grenades behind,” he added to Mal.

Then there was an explosion behind them.

Jayne and Mal turned to look, shocked by the ka-boom, even as Clint nodded to himself and sat down.

“Exploding arrows?” Mal asked, eyes wide.

“I lose more arrows that way,” Clint agreed. “Wash,” he called into his earpiece.

“Hey Hawkeye,” Wash answered happily. “What's up?”

“Reavers on planet,” he answered shortly. “We're not being followed any more, but I think we all want out of here as fast as we can.”

“Barn swallow, please and thank you,” River added into her own comm unit.

“Right you are Jeanie,” Wash agreed, suddenly a little frantic. “We're coming. Swing around to the flats.”

“Affirmative,” River agreed neutrally.

Not five minutes later and they were all safely back in the ship, the mule neatly stopped in the cargo bay.

“Break atmo, baby,” Zoe ordered through the ship's comms as she pressed the buttons to shut the cargo bay and airlock doors. “They're in.”

“River?” Simon demanded frantically as he rushed down the stairs and to where she was casually climbing out of the mule.

“Simon,” she answered flatly with a mild, if blatantly exasperated, glare.

“You did good today,” Mal congratulated River softly as he too hopped out of the mule.

Simon promptly punched Mal in the face, and since the captain was off-balance at the time he fell to the floor.

“ _Yo Hua Kwai Suo_ ,” Mal ordered as he picked himself up, hand at his jaw and eyes wide as they were fixed on the doctor.

“You son of a whore,” Simon spat.

“You are _this close_ to being riddled with holes,” Mal informed Simon lowly.

“Cakewalk you said!” Simon snapped back.

“It _was_!” Mal returned sharply. “Apart from the unexpected addition of some Reavers, which, by the way, River knew were comin' before they actually got there, which saved _all_ of our hides.”

“Well _never_ again!” Simon ordered broadly. “Do you understand me?”

“Seems I recall there bein' a little discussion bein' had between us about _you_ giving orders on _my_ boat,” Mal said with a dangerous softness.

“Well we're _off_ your boat,” Simon answered. “Just as soon as River gets her share of the bounty.”

“Let's not do anything hasty,” Kaylee advised nervously.

“No, shiny,” Mal agreed. “We'll be in Beaumont in ten hours and you can be on your merry.” A smirk crept onto his face. “Of course, it will be up to you to convince River to actually leave with you. Don't think it's likely anyone's going to help you with that much.”

“Hell no,” Jayne agreed as he lumbered off up the stairs himself. “Weren't for her we'd be Reaver-chow right now. Her an' Clint,” he corrected himself. “Quite some fancy arrows he's got.”

Clint smirked as he hopped down from the mule himself. Yes, the exploding arrows he never got back, but they always had such wonderful results, and they were thankfully  _not_ that hard to make more of.

River smiled too, pressed herself up to Clint's side, and her smile grew when he draped an arm over her shoulder.

Without another word, the two of them walked off together.

“Going to be interesting trying to separate _those_ two,” Clint heard Zoe note in an amused tone before they were completely out of hearing range.


	13. Chapter 13

“River?” Simon called hopefully as he knocked on her bunk door.

“You don't leave a place like Serenity. You carry it with you and learn to live there,” she answered through the door.

Simon slid it open, assured by her answering him  _at all_ that she was in there. “Do you really want to  _stay_ here?” he asked softly.

“There are concerns of safety,” she stated.

Simon sighed. “Yes,” he agreed. “I fear we are no longer safe here.”

River turned at last from her sketchbook to pin her brother with a  _look_ . “Concern is for  _them_ ,” she clarified. “She knows that  _she_ is safe. The Academy made her capable, Hawkeye protects her and helped her realise the abilities forced upon her by the Blue Hands, assisted her claim them as her own.”

Simon frowned in confusion.

River smirked at her brother's confusion. “No power in the 'verse can stop me,” she stated. “Can kill with my brain and a hundred different bendy ways besides. Cannot be captured but they will still try. Ergo, it is not safe for  _others_ to be around  _her_ ,” River explained.

“Won't stop us,” Clint informed her fondly.

Simon whipped around – finally spotting where the man was cleaning the gun he'd loaned to River for the job just done.

“Touching down in Beaumont,” Mal's voice announced over the ship's comms.

Clint checked the gun in his hands once more, stocked it with bullets, and passed it back to River as he got up. “See you in the cargo bay,” he said. He kissed River's forehead and headed out to grab some things from his own bunk.

“You serious about that retirement bit?” Clint asked as he passed Jayne in the dining area. “JARVIS could set it up for you after all.”

“Let me think on it a little more,” Jayne answered. “See if there's a ship I'd be interested in buyin' when we get to Beaumont, or maybe find some land to settle on.”

Clint nodded in acceptance.

“River stayin'? Or she goin' with the doc?” Jayne asked.

“She's worried about putting everyone on the ship in danger by her being here,” Clint said, “but she wants to stay.”

“Won't catch me objectin',” Jayne stated, “not after she saved us all from Reavers this last job by hearin' 'em comin' before they could get on us.”

While on Beaumont, there wasn't any need or worry about having to leave someone with the ship, as such,  _everyone_ got shore leave to do as they liked when Wash docked  _Serenity_ . Kaylee went looking for clothes, tools and parts with a good-sized allowance, Zoe and Wash went off together, and Jayne went with Mal to the bar where they'd meet Fanty and Mingo with their cut from the job they'd set up.

Clint and River went together to get some ice cream before they too headed to the bar where Mal was meeting with their latest employers – called the Maidenhead.

River had just reached the bottom of the steps – and of her ice cream – when her attention was grabbed by a brightly-coloured advertisement over one of the bars. It wasn't just grabbed either. It was captured.

Clint followed her gaze and saw the moment of visible code across the cartoon octopus on the screen. He didn't have to know what it meant, just that it was there.

“Jean?” he asked lowly as he forcibly turned her to look him in the eye.

“Miranda,” River whispered back.

“Jean,” Clint called firmly.

River looked around herself before she focused on Clint. Except that there wasn't any recognition in her eyes.

“Damn subliminal messages and brainwashing,” Clint swore as he caught River's fist. They'd been working to _de_ -programme River of all the things that the Blue Hands/Company/Alliance had forced into her, but progress was slow. And it seemed that they were confronted with one of the _many_ codes that they hadn't been able to clear River's system of yet.

River launched her  _other_ fist at him.

Clint caught that too.

River brought up her feet, getting  _bendy_ as she planted both of her feet on Clint's mid-section.

He  _didn't_ let go of her fists though, as anybody else getting kicked in the stomach likely would have done. No. He held on  _tight_ and forced River's hands behind her back, forcing her legs to curl up between her torso and his as his arms went around.

She may have been the more flexible, but Clint was the more muscled of the two of them.

“ _Go Hwong Tong_ ,” Clint said in his best instructor voice. “Little girl, you have a long way to go.”

“ _Ni Ta Ma De. Tian Xia Suo You De Ren Dou Gai Si._ _Lien Mohn_ _Hwen Dan_ ,” River spat back, then blinked. “Clint?”

“We have more de-programming to do,” he said firmly. He'd need JARVIS to get that code. If he hadn't been there, if he hadn't _sparred_ with River so often, he wouldn't have been able to do that, but he knew her moves – and her admittedly _few_ limitations. “Now,” he continued as he carried her to a booth out of direct line of sight from the advertising screen. “Who or what is Miranda?”

“A secret, carried by old men covered in blood. It never touches them but they're drowning in it. She was paraded in front of them like a dog when she was vulnerable, drugged and open and not in control,” River answered as she cowered into Clint's embrace. “It isn't mine, and I shouldn't have to carry it!” she complained softly, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Shh,” Clint hushed comfortingly as he stroked her back soothingly. “JARVIS, look it up, and make sure we know if anybody accesses the security feed this place has of Jean's minor violent response to the trigger,” he requested into his comm unit.

“It has _already_ been accessed Sir,” JARVIS answered.

“ _What_?!” Clint hissed.

“High security clearance, but no name or rank,” the AI expounded. “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to _find_ the Miss, and they _have_ , Sir. Despite the excellent disguise, she _has_ been identified.”

“Well... _Go shi_ ,” Clint decided and looked down at the young woman in his arms. “That's something the captain isn't going to be happy about when we get around to telling him.”

Their little tussle had been stifled quickly after all and hadn't drawn attention – least of all from Mal where he sat hidden by a pair of large fans as he did business. Well, except from the person who was apparently looking for River.

“What will make you feel better?” Clint asked gently. “What can we do, _right now_ , that will make you happy again?”

River looked up at Clint, eyes wide and searching, and then slowly raised her hands to rest on Clint's shoulders.

Clint raised a questioning eyebrow.

River pulled herself up by Clint's shoulders a little, eyes focused on Clint's mouth.

Clint sighed, then bent his head in acceptance and let River kiss him.

She was tentative at first, but as she got more comfortable with the contact she also became more sure.

Clint raised an arm to wrap around River's shoulders and gently reciprocated. As far as he was aware, it was River's first kiss. He wasn't going to be responsible for it not being a  _good_ kiss.

“She feels better now,” River said with a smile when she pulled back. “And she thanks him.”

Clint smiled back and pulled her to rest against his chest. “Surprisingly mutual,” he answered her.

~oOo~

“So, do we have work?” Zoe asked when everyone – yes, even _Simon_ – had returned to the ship.

“Not from Fanty and Mingo,” Mal answered a little unhappily. “They seem to think we're unreliable for some reason.”

“Lying,” River offered. “Only wanted a bigger cut. Believed threatening business relations would grant them larger percentage.”

“That's what we figured,” Jayne agreed.

“Fortunately, JARVIS was in our ears at the time and we were able to _confidently_ cut off the bargaining,” Mal explained, his frown of a moment ago replaced by a pleased smirk. “There's a new wreck in the sky we can drag into Haven. They'll be glad of the parts they can salvage, and there's other treasure aboard we'll be able to sell to someone. Horowitz, the Holden boys, maybe Badger. He's a bit fond of us these days. Of course, by 'us' I mean Clint and River.”

River smiled happily.

Clint coughed. “I'm afraid we've got some  _bad_ news to go with the good though,” he announced solemnly. “River got identified in the Maidenhead. JARVIS confirmed it.”

“What? By who?” Simon demanded.

“Unknown,” JARVIS answered. “A government operative with no name or rank, but with clearance to view security feeds and a great deal more besides.”

“How'd he identify River?” Mal asked, confused. “She never leaves the ship without a whole lot of paint that makes her look like someone else.”

“Programmed reaction to subliminal message conveyed through an advertisement,” River answered unhappily.

“It's been popping up all over for the past few weeks,” JARVIS added. “It's an expensive way of trying to find the Miss, but ultimately successful, as was proven today.”

“I thought you guys were working on _de_ -programming you,” Mal queried. River and Clint _had_ told him about the triggers and the brainwashing when JARVIS had finally found the Acadamy's files – he'd asked to be kept updated on that after all, which meant he'd known about JARVIS having _found_ the files before _Simon_ had. If he _hadn't_ been told, he'd have been throwing a fit right about now about having a potential time-bomb on _his_ ship, endangering _his_ crew. As it was, he only was very unhappy with _Simon_ for _still_ having not approached him about the matter, even though River and Clint had.

“Deprogramming is slow and difficult,” River replied with a sigh. “It is fortunate that Hawkeye was able to contain the situation.”

“The initial reaction still got picked up though,” Clint continued gravely. “So we've got a dangerous and covert tail with unlimited access to Alliance resources.”

“Who knows that the Miss is on _this_ ship,” JARVIS added apologetically.

Swearing was the order of the day for the next five minutes.

“JARVIS, you buy me some land on a _good_ sort of rock where I can retire to, an' move my family there?” Jayne requested. “I think I've had all the excitement I can handle. I'm keepin' Vera, an' I'm keepin' a shotgun for shootin' rabbits, but I figure if the Alliance is after River, she's gonna need the fire power more than a retired tracker.”

“Certainly Mr Cobb,” JARVIS agreed.

“Jayne?” Mal asked.

“Hell Mal, I talked to that fed when we first got River on board. I've known how much trouble they _could_ have brought down on us from the start. Now the heat's up, an' I got family to take care of,” Jayne explained apologetically. “I'd _like_ to stick by the kid, but I'm working on bein' better about priorities like that. Keep me posted though?” he requested. “Y'all make it out alive from facin' this guy, you're welcome wherever JARVIS finds me a place, or if you need a tracker you can come to me, but... only _after_ whatever this is, is over.”

Mal nodded in unhappy acceptance. It was Jayne's call to make after all.

“I have arranged for your family to have passage from Kerry to Haven, Mr Cobb,” JARVIS announced a moment later, “and sent funds to the Shepherd to have a house built for you, and them, in the same settlement as he lives in. Will this satisfy?”

Jayne smiled. “Sounds perfect,” he agreed. “Thanks JARVIS.”

“She thanks you for your gift of weaponry,” River said to Jayne.

Jayne shrugged. “Shouldn't need  _all_ of that on Haven,” he answered, “and you shouldn't always have to be borrowin' from Hawkeye.”

Kaylee smiled. “You got  _heart_ under that gun-oil Jayne Cobb,” she insisted happily.

Jayne actually  _blushed_ . It wasn't the first time Kaylee had said that to him, but he actually  _blushed_ this time.

~oOo~

Haven, when they got there, was a welcome stop, as it always was, and the locals were even happier to know that the spare ship  _Serenity_ had towed in was completely at their disposal for parts. Jayne sticking around, apparently moving his mother and his little brother there from another planet, was welcome to them all too. Man  _was_ a good tracker after all. Jayne would be able to set himself up hunting whatever animals could be found on the planet and shooting them for meat.

Everyone settled in around a small open-air fire to share stories and music – Jayne having a guitar and some skill at it being another reason he was fairly popular with the locals.

Before they took off again, they made sure that Jayne had a well set up house. Particularly that he had a good connection to the cortex and JARVIS.

“You might want to work on a bunker,” Clint advised Jayne just before they were leaving. “If this operative decides he's going to hunt down everybody who's ever been a friend to _Serenity_ , then...”

Jayne nodded. “I hear ya,” he agreed. “Probably won't come for  _me_ personal though. Send fly-overs. I'll keep the turret prepped an' do my best to keep the kids here safe. Shepherd too. They ain't gettin' anything from me if they come askin' rather than shootin' either, just so ya know.”

Clint nodded, a grateful smile on his face, lightly smacked his friend on the arm, and headed inside.

They were only three hours from Haven when they got bad news from JARVIS – this time regarding Inara.

It seemed that the operative was going to be using her to bait a trap for them. They could expect a wave from her within the next couple of hours.

Mal ordered JARVIS to hack into the ship this 'operative' was chasing them from. He wanted to know whatever his enemy was planning ahead of time. If the AI could hack into whatever communications frequency the operative would be using as well, then all the better.

Of course, JARVIS could do  _both_ of those things without a great deal of trouble. The Alliance was connected to the cortex as well after all. It was just a matter of finding the right codes for hacking through. Being able to open the right door and, more than that, being able to sneak in without anybody noticing.

So when Inara waved them, everybody was awake and watching as Clint answered it.

“Hey!” he greeted happily from the co-pilot chair on the bridge – Wash was taking a break from flying to _eat_ just then. “If it isn't Madame Serra.”

“Hello Clint,” Inara greeted with a smile.

“How are you Irises?” he asked. “How's business been treating you?”

“It isn't as _varied_ as it was when I flew with _Serenity_ ,” Inara admitted. “I'm teaching other girls how to be Companions now.”  
“Well, you _are_ at a _Training House_ ,” Clint noted with a smirk. “That's more or less expected. Not teaching any boys how it's done?”

Inara shook her head. “There are  _very_ few male Companions,” she replied. “Though if you're interested?”

Clint shook his head. “No,” he answered. “You know Nandi helped with a couple of issues, but I'm definitely not up for that sort of thing. You want to talk to everybody? Because if you are, the Shepherd and Jayne aren't here any more.”

“What?” Inara asked, surprised. “Why not?”

“Shepherd decided to stay on at one of the settlements we delivered goods to not long after you left,” Clint answered.

“That doesn't explain Jayne,” Inara stated, still wanting _that_ detail.

“You hear about the Reavers on Lilac?” Clint asked.

Inara nodded. “There were actually some survivors,” she said. “They locked themselves in a train station vault.”

“Actually, _we_ locked them in the vault,” Clint corrected. “We were there robbing the place at the time, got everybody who was there into the vault before we flew out of there like bats out of hell. Jayne decided he'd had enough of close calls like that, and with the savings and all, well, we saw him set up and wished him the best.”

Inara blinked in surprise on the cortex screen. “Wow,” she said softly. “Jayne settling down for the quiet life. That's... I don't know what to think of that.” Her eyes darted to the side of the screen for a moment, and she visibly shifted gears. “I need to talk to Mal,” she said.

Clint nodded. “I'll send your wave down to the screen in his room,” he agreed, and flipped a few switches. Of course, he also called everybody else to assemble on the bridge to  _watch_ the conversation between Inara and Mal.

“Thinking you could use a gun hand?” Mal asked when his stop-and-start conversation with Inara got around to why she was calling – and by which point the bridge was filled with the peanut gallery that was the rest of the crew.

“I'm hoping not,” she answered. “But if you're close at all... you, and the crew, could take your ease here for a little while. And there's be payment,” she added more firmly. If there was _one_ thing she was always _very_ clear on when dealing with Mal, it was that their relationship was strictly one of _business_.

“I'll sound out the crew,” Mal promised. “This pot like to boil over soon?”

“Soon,” Inara agreed with another nervous glance to the side. “But not right away.”

Mal nodded. “Well, you know everybody on this ship cares about you an' your situation, even if you're not renting the shuttle any more. Which, by the way, you left some stuff,” he said. “Been meaning to drop off.”

“I didn't mean to leave stuff,” Inara stuttered quickly.

“I didn't look at the stuff,” Mal answered just as quickly. “Spect it's just sundries though... I'd think you'd wave us if you were missin' anything important.”

Inara nodded. “So...” she said awkwardly.

Mal nodded as well. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I'll... talk to the crew, give you a wave soon as I can,” he promised.

“Thank you,” Inara said nervously, and then closed the connection.

Up in the bridge, the crew all exchanged glances.

“If JARVIS hadn't told us that was a trap,” Zoe spoke up at last, “we'd have known from those two _not_ fighting.”

Clint smirked silently from his chair. Really, a person should have popcorn on hand if they planned to watch an interaction between Mal and Inara.

“So,” Zoe said casually when Mal joined the rest of them on the bridge. “Who is it goin' in?”

“Can I still protest walking into a _trap_?” Wash asked, but with more academic interest in his tone than real protest.

“You were all watching,” Mal answered firmly. “Inara wouldn't set us up willin', meanin' she's caught already, clearly needs a little bit of help to get out. Can't just leave her there,” he explained calmly.

“Flip you for it,” Clint interjected, and pulled out a coin.

“Heads,” Mal said.

Clint flipped the coin up, and every set of eyes watched it as it went end-over-end up, and end-over-end down again until Clint caught it and slapped it down on the back of his hand.

“Tails,” River announced before Clint peeled his hand back. “Ronin goes in.”

“Ronin?” Clint said with a smile, even as he verified the toss. “I'm going to need my sword?”

“Possible,” River answered. “Unlikely. Will attempt to negotiate before acting violently.”

“There's a part of me wants to know why _you_ get so many nicknames and how you know what they always mean when she says them,” Mal stated.

“Circus stage-names that became code-names later,” Clint answered a little uncomfortably as he pushed himself out of his seat. “I'll go gear up.”

“Don't forget your camera do-hickey,” Mal ordered. “I think we _all_ want to see this guy we're up against.”

“Yes Sir,” Clint answered with a vague salute as he marched out and down to his bunk.


	14. Chapter 14

Clint hadn't ever done a female disguise for himself before, and he didn't ever _intend_ to either. He saw no reason why he _should_ either, even to infiltrate a Companion Training House. So, he geared up. His old uniform from SHIELD, side arm, and all of it hidden beneath a gender-neutral Buddhist Monk robe. Buddhism was one of the big religions still flourishing in the 'verse, and while he wasn't himself a Buddhist, JARVIS reported that Inara had a statue of one of the Buddha's in her rooms.

Clint used a camera feed as a pin for his robe and slipped his comm unit into his ear – as well as an extra up his sleeve for Inara.

He was doing pre-flight checks on the shuttle (and getting to know how it worked a bit better) when Kaylee came in with a bit of tech in her hands, wires sticking out.

“What's that?” Clint asked.

“Pulse beacon,” Kaylee answered. “JARVIS says that this Alliance guy plans to lock onto the signal as soon as we hit atmo, be able to use it to blow us all up. Was thinkin' you could drop it somewhere unpopulated along the way?”

Clint smirked – and from Kaylee's perspective, it was _really_ weird to see Clint's smirk on the face of a wizened old bald guy in billowy yellow priest robes. “I got a better idea,” he answered as he took the part from her. “I'll see you soon,” he promised.

“ _Ping Ming_ ,” Kaylee bid him with a smile, then gave Clint a quick hug before she skipped out of the shuttle.

“Clear to detach?” Clint checked with Wash through the comms.

“Affirmative,” the pilot answered. “See you when you get back.”

“Roger that,” Clint agreed with a smirk, and moved the shuttle out. Once he'd set it down closer to the Training House, Clint chose a large, old stick from the ground to use as a walking stick and climbed up the many stairs. No one stopped him as he walked the halls. A monk was paying a call on one of the Buddhist Companions. That was all. He certainly wasn't the _only_ monk in the building. He was fairly sure that he was the only _fake_ though.

He slipped into the rooms JARVIS informed him Inara was occupying without knocking, and closed the doors behind him before he knelt down at the small shrine beside her. Without a word, he placed the comm unit he'd brought for Inara onto the shrine just as she was placing a stick of incense.

Inara's eyes widened. She quickly snatched the item up, put it into her ear, and dragged a few of her dark curls over to hide her new accessory.

“Hey there Inara,” Mal's voice came over. “I'd have been there myself, but I lost the coin-toss.”

“You knew my offer wasn't on the level,” Inara hissed. “Surely JARVIS _warned_ you!”

“He did,” Mal agreed. “And when we got your wave, we all figured that comin' to the rescue wouldn't be such a bad way to spend a day.”

“You can _not_ handle this man, and you got a venerable _monk_ involved as well?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

“You hear that Barton?” Mal joked. “You're _venerable_.”

“ _Wuo Dwei Nee Boo Ting Boo Jen_ ,” Clint replied loftily.

Inara whipped her head around to stare at him.

“But thanks to your comm unit and that little camera you're wearing, we can see and hear everything _you_ do,” Wash answered happily. “So would you mind turning a bit so we can all see Inara?”

Clint chuckled and obliged.

Inara stared in shock as she sought out Clint's face underneath the make up and the skin-coloured cap that made him look bald – very carefully blended in so that he really  _did_ look bald, rather than like someone  _pretending_ to be bald.

“Clint?” she checked, her voice tiny and high with the squeak of shock.

“I won the coin-toss, or as the captain said, he'd be here himself,” Clint answered easily as the doors to Inara's room were opened by another figure – a darkly-skinned gentleman dressed in blue. A different shade of blue than Steve Rogers had worn, but still (to Clint's trained eye) clearly a _reinforced_ sort of blue.

“Please remove the disguise,” the man requested – politely, but also firmly.

Clint shrugged, and took the pin camera off his robes and attached it to Inara's nearest shoulder before she turned to pray at the Buddha statue again, and he shrugged off the robes he was wearing, folded them neatly, and peeled off the skull-cap that had covered his hair. He tucked that into a pocket, along with the fake nose, fake goatee, and the fake eyebrows.

“I can't do a thing about the wrinkles without a wash cloth,” Clint stated neutrally. “But I'm fairly sure you've got my face on a bit of video feed somewhere, right?”

“Indeed,” the man agreed. “You're not on any records though, which is puzzling.”

Clint did his best imitation of Phil's most sympathetically  _patronising_ smile. “Maybe you're just looking in the wrong records,” he offered gently.

“Perhaps,” the operative allowed. “I admit to being rather impressed that you made it so far,” he continued with a _very_ slight, but clearly _impressed_ smile. “But your disguise was _extremely_ thorough.”

“And yet you saw through it,” Clint noted.

“I wouldn't have even thought to look at you twice,” the operative admitted, “except that I was able to hear your... _interesting_ conversation with Miss Serra.”

Clint smirked, but said nothing.

“I mean it when I say I've no intent to harm you,” the operative said. “But I think you – and your captain – are beginning to understand just how dangerous River Tam _is_ ,” the operative continued, moving on to his objective.

Clint shrugged. “We've managed so far,” he pointed out.

“That girl will rain destruction down on you and the ship you travel in,” the operative insisted gently. “She is an albatross.”

“And Alliance government officials, to say nothing of the Academy, have collectively shot her already,” Clint answered easily, “and rejoiced in what they did. This is the part where they suffer for their wrong-doing,” he added solemnly.

Inara looked at Clint in confusion.

“ _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ was one of the few texts that he was forced to memorise in school before being orphaned and joining the circus,” River supplied softly into Inara's earpiece.

Inara's expression cleared in understanding.

The operative faltered slightly at having his own metaphor turned on him so soundly. But only slightly. “You can't beat us,” he said gravely.

Clint raised a hand to his comm when Mal spoke into it, blatantly letting the operative in front of him know that he  _did_ have contact with the ship. “The captain wishes to convey, at this point, that he has no  _need_ to beat you. He just wants to go his own way,” he said.

“And he can do that,” the operative promised. “Just as soon as I am allowed to take River Tam _back home_.”

“The captain wishes to intimate that you should open with payment,” Clint said neutrally, hand still raised to his ear piece.

“That is a trap,” the operative said firmly. “I offer money, he would play the man of honour and take umbrage. I ask that he do what is right, and he plays the brigand. I have no stomach for such games.”

Clint shrugged. “Well, that's a fault in your training I suppose,” he allowed. “Now, as for me, since _I_ _am_ the one you're actually _dealing with_ here, I'm interested to know what makes you think that 'home' for Miss Genius is where you want to take her back to.”

“It is where she belongs,” the operative answered, eyes narrowed a tiny bit – just slightly thrown by the line of questioning that Clint had opened up.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “When I was growing up, I was always told 'home is where the heart is',” he said. “Made being on the move all the time a lot easier.”

“Then let me put it _this_ way,” the operative said. “I have a warship in deep obit, and we locked onto _Serenity_ 's pulse beacon the moment you hit atmo. I have but to speak a word and have a missile on its way to that exact location within three minutes.”

“And then the Alliance would be responsible for the destruction of a Companion Training House,” Clint finished, and fished the pulse beacon Kaylee had given him out of the folds of the monk robe he had tucked under one arm now that he wasn't wearing them. Gently, he tossed the item over to the man so that he could inspect the item himself. “I'm sure that would be _bad_ publicity for them.”

“The pulse beacon,” the operative acknowledged unhappily as he turned it over in his hands. “How long do you think you can really run from us?” he asked.

Clint smirked again. “You only  _found_ Miss Genius through  _luck_ and  _great_ expense,” he pointed out. “Though I do congratulate you on seeing through the disguise,” he added.

“It was a matter of deduction,” the operative answered. “Only River Tam would have responded to that code, therefore, even though the girl who responded did not look very much like River Tam, it had to be her.”

Clint nodded in acceptance.

The operative sighed. “I want to resolve this like civilised men,” he declared as he moved slowly around the room. “I'm not threatening you -”

“You tried though,” Clint pointed out with a crooked grin as he kept the operative in front of him and the door in his sight. “And _don't_ say you're unarmed just because you left your sword at the door and I'm between you and it,” he added firmly. “You're an _assassin_ , and any half-way decent assassin should be perfectly capable of snapping the neck of a civilian of my size and weight with their bare hands.”

“Could you _not_ invite trouble?” Mal demanded into Clint's ear.

The operative narrowed his eyes. “But you're  _not_ a civilian, are you?” he asked pointedly.

“I'm not employed by any military or government organisation,” Clint replied. “Therefore, civilian.”

“Nothing here is what it seems,” the operative stated as he moved past Clint to where his sword was stashed. “You aren't some plucky hero.”

“Know that for sure, do you?” Clint asked with a soft chuckle that was echoed in his ear piece by River. He didn't bother to stop the operative fetching his weapon though.

“The Alliance isn't some evil empire,” the operative continued as he drew his sword. “This is _not_ the grand arena,” he stated as he walked around both of them to stand between them and the Buddha.

“And _that's_ not incense,” Inara cut in softly.

The operative turned in surprise to see a fuse burning down. Inara and Clint both ran for it while the operative was blown back and then knocked out by the flash bomb.

“What happened to my shuttle?” Inara demanded absently as she moved to take the controls.

“It's still docked on _Serenity_ ,” Clint answered. “This is the other one. If you're determined to do the driving though, head east.”

Inara nodded and took the shuttle up.

She was greeted, when they docked, with a hug from Kaylee, and then from River, and finally from Zoe. Clint only got a hug from River.

“Captain,” JARVIS called once they were in the air, had deployed their decoys, and everybody had gathered in the dining area. “The operative plans to attack the people who have given shelter to _Serenity_ in the past. I have sent warnings, and everybody but Mr Cobb and Shepherd Book have gone to ground.”

“Thank you JARVIS,” Mal answered. “I guess we should head to Haven and pick 'em up if they've decided they're not going to hide.”

“Our plotted course takes us by that way already,” Wash answered. “Won't be much of a detour to land there.”

Mal nodded in gratitude, and turned to Inara. “What can you tell us about the guy?” he asked. “You didn't wave us the instant he showed up, and all your training makes you good at reading people, right?”

Inara nodded. “We have  _every_ reason to be afraid of this man,” she said. “He's a  _believer_ . He's intelligent, methodical, and  _devout_ in his belief that killing River is the  _right_ thing to do,” she explained, a slight tremor in her voice. The man had unnerved her, though she'd done her best not to show it.

“Did he say anything about a Miranda?” Simon asked softly.

Inara shook her head. “What is that?”

“Don't know who or what yet, but it's on River's mind,” Zoe answered.

“Conjure it might be the reason they're after her,” Mal added.

“Is it some kind of threat to the Alliance?” Inara asked, worried. Her loyalties had been to the Alliance for a long time, even on _Serenity_. But they'd been eroding, slowly but steadily, since the second month she'd been renting that shuttle.

“It is a planet,” JARVIS answered. “Nothing about it is available on the cortex though, which is why I have only _just_ found the information,” he added apologetically.

“They're after River because of a _planet_?” Mal asked incredulously.

“She knows the secrets,” River supplied as she curled up against Clint's chest as she sat in his lap with his arms around her. “Secrets held by old men covered it blood. It never touches them but they're drowning in it.”

“Shh,” he soothed gently. “It _will_ be alright,” he promised.

“This _isn't_ the war,” Inara said quietly. Her voice still carried around the room.

“Are you saying that because you think I don't know?” Mal asked.

“I... I just want to know who I'm dealing with,” Inara said softly. “I've seen too many versions of you to be sure.”

“I start fighting a war, and I guarantee you'll see something new,” Mal promised lowly.

“I'm sorry,” Inara answered. “I just...” she sighed. “Thank you for coming for me. Or for sending Clint to come for me, I suppose. I _am_ grateful. I was terrified for you for a while when I saw that comm unit on my altar and heard your voice, terrified you'd get caught, but... thank you for coming for me.”

“Weren't ever going to not come,” Mal answered. “So JARVIS, where's this planet?”

“You're... _not_ going to like this...” the AI replied hesitantly.

“How can it be there's a whole _planet_ called Miranda and none of us know'd that?” Kaylee asked.

“If you will all congregate on the bridge, I will bring it up on the screen,” JARVIS said.

“It's a black rock, uninhabitable,” Mal noted from what he could read off the screen when they reached the bridge. “Terraforming didn't hold or some such?” he suggested. “Few settlers died?” he guessed

“Lies,” River said softly from where she stood at the back of the room, still held by Clint. “Lies to keep people from asking questions. Don't need to be told to stay away.”

“Wait a tick, yeah,” Kaylee recalled, her memory having churned for an appropriate length of time by now. “Some years back, there was call for workers to settle on Miranda. Daddy talked about it.”

“Nothing about it on the cortex though,” Wash reminded. “JARVIS said remember? It's not there in history _or_ astronomy. Just... doesn't exist.”

“Half of writing history is hiding the truth,” Mal noted with resigned cynicism. “There's _something_ on that rock the Alliance doesn't want known.”

“Lies to keep people from asking questions,” River repeated.

“That's right at the edge of the Burnham Quadrant, right?” Inara asked as she moved closer to the screen. “It's not that far from here.”

“Woah-no!” Wash said firmly.

“That's a bad notion,” Zoe added more softly at the same time as her husband.

“Honey, show them the bad,” Wash requested.

“I got it, Baby,” Zoe agreed, and left where she'd been hovering behind his chair to take up position right by the screen they'd all been watching.

“Don't need to be told to stay away,” River stated softly as Zoe tapped at the screen. “They never lie down,” she added in a whisper.

Clint was the only one heard her. He knew exactly what she meant without having to ask though – she only said  _that_ when talking about Reavers.

“This is us,” Zoe explained, “just a short ways out from Haven, and here's Miranda,” she said as she pointed to the two planets. “All along here, that empty space in between,” she continued as she dragged her finger across the screen. “That's Reaver territory.”

“They just _float_ out there sending out raiding parties,” Wash explained.

“No one ventures there,” Zoe stated. “Not even the Alliance. You do, you're signing up to be a banquet.”

“Loki could get us through,” River stated.

Clint shut his eyes, pretended for a moment that not seeing the world would mean he didn't have to confront that sort of suggestion, however true it might be.

“Well, we'll get Jayne and the Shepherd from Haven before we consider that sort of thing,” Mal decided.

It was well known to all of them how Clint felt about Loki – an ongoing sore spot, a festering wound that Clint was learning to live with. It was healing slowly, and there had been times, brief times, when Clint hadn't objected to Loki's presence  _too_ much, but they  _all_ knew that Clint hadn't ever actually  _actively_ welcomed Loki's presence. Even when he'd walked into Niska's torture room, he'd actually had every intention to free himself  _without_ Loki's interference.

When they got to Haven, there was an Alliance ship blown in half and with a black scorch-mark across the ground, clearly left in its wake when it crashed.

“Jayne? Shepherd?” Kaylee called as she ran down the ramp and out into the empty, clearly fired-upon town.

“Kaylee!” Jayne yelled back in greeting, and appeared out from behind the sandbags around the canon, supporting Shepherd Book on his shoulders. “Get the doc to prep the infirmary! Shepherd's been shot!”

Clint hurried down the ramp then and took Book's other arm over his own shoulders and helped the old man limp up on his one good leg – the other had a  _very_ nasty hole going through it – and into  _Serenity_ .

“Clint,” Mal said as they stood outside of the infirmary while Simon was patching up Shepherd Book – he'd just come from the bridge and an _unpleasant_ conversation with the operative who was chasing them. Shepherd's had been right. Man believed hard.

Jayne had already assured them that everybody else was alright. They were just... still hiding. He'd left once Shepherd Book was on the table to let everybody else know it was safe to come out.

“I hate to ask when I have some idea of how you feel on the matter, but we're a bit pressed on all sides here,” Mal stated. He was the captain. He gave orders. He didn't have to ask. But he was asking anyway.

Clint nodded. “I know,” he said softly, and pulled the medallion Loki had given him, so long ago now, out of his shirt. He really hoped he wasn't going to regret this – and then he deliberately rubbed the thing.

Loki faded into being on the floor in front of Clint, down on one knee, head bent and one hand over his heart while the other was straight down by his side. The very picture of a dedicated servant, waiting for orders and determined to please his master.

“You summoned me,” Loki said, voice breathless with _pleasure_. It was _clear_ how pleased he was to have been summoned, deliberately. He didn't so much as twitch, but at the same time it was like he was vibrating with joy where he was knelt.

“I did,” Clint agreed solemnly. “We've got a bit of an issue here. We need to travel through Reaver space without getting turned into a buffet.”

Loki looked up sharply, his green eyes wide in his face. “I can disguise your ship with magic,” he offered after a moment's wide-eyed contemplation.

“That won't affect the workings none, will it?” Mal asked.

“Not a bit,” Loki promised. “The Reavers won't even notice you. I _will_ have to remain on the ship to maintain the illusion, however.”

“Figured it might be somethin' like that,” Mal agreed with a slight nod. “Clint. You gonna be okay with this?”

Clint clenched his jaw, swallowed tightly, and nodded shortly.

“Alright then,” Mal decided – and since Simon had finished patching up the Shepherd, Mal went in to talk to him, leaving Clint alone with Loki.

Clint debated within himself  _shooting_ his captain for that, but ultimately decided against it.

~oOo~

Clint pretended he  _wasn't_ sulking in his bunk while Loki was aboard, holding an illusion over  _Serenity_ so that she wouldn't be noticed by the Reavers they were flying past. He was tinkering with arrow heads. His favourite pass-time. He'd locked his bunk from the inside though. That didn't stop River from getting in of course. The girl dropped in through the air vent.

“She apologises for voicing the suggestion,” she said softly from where she'd landed. She hadn't moved from the moment she landed in a crouch on the floor of Clint's bunk. “An alternative could have been found.”

Clint sighed, set his pliers down, and waved her over.

River didn't hesitate to move to his side.

“Everyone else is on the bridge, watching and tense,” River said softly as she snuggled close. “No thoughts but fears of what will happen should the working of Loki fail.”

The spell didn't fail though – the guy  _had_ been doing the magic thing for several thousand years after all – and soon they'd left the swarm of Reavers behind and broken Atmo on Miranda. They flew over easily a dozen rich-looking cities as Wash tracked down the  _only_ power source on the planet he was picking up – a beacon. One tiny, weak little beacon.

Wash set the ship down, the planet was confirmed safe to walk out on without a suit (if anything was wrong, the scanner wasn't reading it, though according to Mal “something sure the hell ain't right”), and everybody – including Loki, even – headed out to see what was on Miranda.

It wasn't long before they came across a dead body. Just lying in the street. There was another one in a car. A stopped car. Not a crashed one. Like the person driving it had just parked and then expired. The place was a bit spooky, really, and then Simon spotted another dead body resting against the window Kaylee had just backed into.

“Kaylee, don't -” he started.

Only she  _did_ turn around, and jumped, a short shriek passing her lips.

“How come these ones are preserved?” Jayne asked as he got closer. He and the Shepherd had both elected to stay on _Serenity_ rather than miss out on whatever 'fun' was to be had, risks from the Alliance operative be damned.

“Place must have gone hermetic when the power blew,” Mal answered.

“What are they doing?” Kaylee asked as she stared and started on the beginnings of hysteria.

Jayne moved to wrap an arm around Kaylee's shoulders. “They're not doin' a damn thing,” he told her softly.

“There's no discolouration,” Simon noted clinically. “Nobody's doubled over or showing any signs of pain.”

“Well... there's gasses that kill painless, right?”

“They didn't fall,” Inara said. “None of them. They just... lay down.”

“ _Zhan Shi_ ,” River cried softly as she wrapped her arms tightly around Clint's chest. “ _Rung Tse Song Di Ching Dai Wuo Tzo_. Make them stop! They're everywhere! Every city, every house, every room... They're all inside me. I can hear them all screaming and they're saying... _nothing_. Get up!” she wept. “Please get up. _Wuo Shang Mei Er_ , _Mei Sheen_ , _Byen Shi To_. Please God make me a stone!”

“ _Not_ you,” Clint ordered Loki when the tall figure took a step closer. “River,” he whispered softly into her hair. “Focus.”

“She is starting to damage my calm,” Jayne announced as he held Kaylee.

“Jayne,” Zoe warned half-heartedly.

“She's right,” Jayne snapped. “Everybody's dead. The whole world's dead for no gorram reason.”

“Let's just get to the beacon,” Wash advised, attempting to be the peacemaker. “Maybe there'll be some answers as to why.”

The beacon was coming from a ship. A ship that had crashed through a wall and was horribly banged up, but there was  _one_ room on that small ship that was still completely intact.

River shifted a unit used for storing recordings so it was properly in place. The recording started and caught all of their attentions as it flickered to life.

“These are just a few of the images we've recorded, and you can see...” stated a woman with brown hair in a pony-tail, wearing a blue Alliance uniform. “It isn't what we thought. There has been no war here,” she continued as image after image of corpses cycled in front of her, “and no terraforming event. The environment is stable.” The images stopped cycling, and the woman looked like she was about to cry for a moment before she steeled herself to continue. “It's the Pax,” she said, and it was an admission of a guilty person. “The G-23 Paxilon Hydroclorate that _we_ added to the air processors. It was supposed to _calm_ the population, weed out aggression,” she explained, and looked _that_ much closer to tears with the admission. “Well it _works_ ,” she announced, but it wasn't a happy announcement. “The people here stopped fighting,” she stated.

River's lips moved at the same time as she watched the woman talk, her eyes wide with horror.

Clint squeezed her a little closer to his side.

“And then they stopped _everything else_ ,” the woman declared with a tremor in her voice. “They stopped going to work... they stopped breeding, talking, eating. There's thirty-million people here, and they all just let themselves die,” she said sadly – and guiltily, and with a horror lingering in her eyes.

Suddenly, the sad recording was interrupted by a roar and a thump. Everyone – even Loki – jumped at the sound that had come out of nowhere.

“I have to be quick,” the woman said desperately. “About a tenth of a percent of the population had the _opposite_ reaction to the Pax. Their aggressor responses have increased... _beyond_ madness. They've become... Well they've _killed_ most of us. And not just killed. They've _done things_...” she said in a clearly horrified whimper.

“Reavers,” Wash said, voicing what everyone (except maybe Loki) was thinking. “They _made_ them.”

“I won't live to report this, but people have to know,” the woman said, near tears as she spoke desperately. “We meant it for the best. To make people safer. God!” she cried and raised a gun that, until then, none of them had realised she'd been holding. She fired it off into a space that the recording hadn't captured, and then brought it up to her own head.

A second figure joined her in the recording before she could pull the trigger though, and wrenched it from her hand before forcing her to the floor – whereupon _violence_ was committed, with much screaming on the part of the victim.

“Turn it off,” Jayne demanded gruffly before it got much further.

No one  _wanted_ to be forced to stand by and just  _watch_ a Reaver attack, with the knowledge that it was much too late to do anything for the person being attacked. It just turned the stomach.

Mal was the one to oblige. He reached out and took the recording and stuffed it in his pocket. This was the secret that had burned up River's brain and seen an operative set on their trail – and frankly he agreed with the woman in the recording on  _one_ point: people have to know what happened on Miranda.

Simon threw up in a corner. There were carrots – which meant that the good doctor had a secret stash of them _somewhere_ , because none of the _rest_ of them had carrots. If they all survived this, there would be _questioning_.

~oOo~

“This report is maybe twelve years old,” Mal started when they'd re-grouped in the dining area of _Serenity_. “The parliament buried it – and it stayed buried, until River dug it up. _This_ is what they feared she knew. And they were _right_ to fear, 'cause there's a whole universe of folk out there who are gonna know it too. They're all going to see it. Somebody has to speak for these people,” Mal declared softly, but with iron resolve as he clutched the recording in his hand.

“We all got onto this boat for different reasons,” Clint interjected softly. “But we still all ended up _here_ , _together_. All because the Alliance held fast to the belief that they could make people better.”

“All?” Book asked. “How do you figure that?”

“All,” Clint agreed. “There was the Unification War. The Alliance held to the belief that _they_ would _bring civilisation_ to the outer planets. Then they spread the Pax on Miranda and set Reavers loose on the 'verse when they screwed up – but they didn't learn. They tried again,” he said as he lay a gentle hand on River's shoulder. “And now all three of those are going to come back to bite the Alliance in their collective asses.”

Mal nodded. “As sure as I know anything, I know this,” he said. “They  _will_ try  _again_ . Maybe on another world, maybe on this very ground swept clean. A year from now, ten, they'll swing back to the belief that they can make people...” Mal met River's eyes. “Better.”

“Different methods, new approaches, always of the belief that people can be _improved_ upon,” River agreed. “Sometimes even enjoy minor successes,” she added with a look at Clint. “Non-replicable though. Human DNA too varied.”

Clint nodded. He had personal experience of that sort of thing. Steve Rogers and the super-soldier serum. Bruce Banner and the Hulk. Tony Stark and his arc-reactor heart. Natasha and the brain-washing she'd suffered through. Loki and his  _glorious purpose_ at the end of his “glow-stick of destiny”.

“I do not hold to that and I will not stand for it,” Mal said firmly, here referring to the Alliance and their views on the improvement of the 'verse. “So no more running,” he decided. “I aim to misbehave.”

“How can I do anything but support such a declaration of intent?” Loki asked with a wide grin on his face. “If you'll have me, of course.”

Mal glanced at Clint, who shrugged shortly, before Mal himself nodded in agreement.

“Well, I suppose if you can't do something _smart_ ,” the Shepherd said with a smile, “then you should do something _right_.”

Jayne smirked, toasted the sentiment, and once he'd had a slug from the bottle of booze in his hand, he slid it across the table to Simon.

“Do we have a plan?” he asked as he picked up the bottle and sipped from it himself.

“Wash, how do you feel about calling in a favour?” Mal asked his pilot.

“Mr Universe?” Wash checked.

“We don't have the equipment to broad-wave this code, but _he_ can put it on _every_ screen for thirty worlds,” Mal answered.

“You're forgetting the skyplex we took from Niska,” Clint pointed out. “It wouldn't be that hard to convert. Take a while though.”

“Mr Universe's moon is currently only three hours out at full-burn,” River stated. “Skyplex is a week out, and it would take a further twenty-four hours to prepare it for broad-wave provided that Alliance hasn't destroyed it for being collective property of _Serenity_. Alliance is too close and we do not _have_ that much time.”

“Either way, we've still got the Reavers and probably the Alliance between us and them,” Wash stated.

“It's a fair bet that if we tried to contact Mr Universe then the Alliance would find out about it, if they don't know about him already. They're gonna see this coming,” Zoe chipped in.

“They may well be waiting for us,” Mal allowed, “in fact, I hope they are. But they're not going to see _this_ coming,” he insisted.

~oOo~

According to JARVIS, the Alliance  _did_ know that Wash and Mr Universe knew each other. They had flight school records after all. They also knew that Mr Universe had settled down on his own moon and what was likely the best technological set-up for receiving and broadcasting anything and everything that existed outside of Alliance control. They also monitored any and all waves that came and went from his moon.

So, with the operative keeping a watch on  _Serenity_ , and the Alliance in general keeping watch on Mr Universe, it was practically guaranteed that any communication between the two would be watched by a third party.

They made the call anyway.

“No problem!” Mr Universe said with a smile once Wash had finished explaining the situation to him. “Bring it on, bring it on, bring it on! From me to the ears and the eyes of the universe,” he proclaimed happily. “Not even the Alliance can stop the signal, after all. Everything goes somewhere, and since I go everywhere, I might as well carry _this_ with me. Should be some fun.”

“We won't be long,” Wash promised his one-time bunk-mate.

“You're gonna get caught in the ion cloud,” Mr Universe warned. “It will play merry hob with your radar, but pretty pretty lights and a few miles after, you'll be right in my orbit.”

“You know there's a _very_ high probability the Alliance won't take too kindly to your helping us,” Clint interjected from the co-pilot seat.

Mr Universe just grinned. “Ask me if I care,” he said daringly.

Wash chuckled. “See you planet-side,” he bid, and the wave cut off.

“JARVIS?” Clint asked the room at large.

“I have full blueprints of Mr Universe's complex, and have left myself a way in should it be needed,” the AI answered. “He has a back-up unit over his power generator. Even if the Alliance beats us there and destroys his mainframe it is likely they would miss it completely. If they _do_ destroy his main unit, however, it will be difficult to reach the back-up.”

“Hopefully we won't need that knowledge,” Mal said from the door that led between the bridge and the dining area. “Good to have it though.”

“Agreed,” chorused both of the pilots.

“Are you ready, Loki?” Wash asked.

“I am waiting only for your word,” Loki answered through the comms.

“We're almost through, so I'm going to gun it now,” Wash said firmly.

“Illusion is down,” Loki confirmed.

“Kaylee, full burn!”

“ _Kan Wo Men Zen Me Si Ba_!” Kaylee answered fiercely and then the whole ship accelerated – and all the Reaver ships around them gave chase.

“Not planning on dying today,” Wash muttered resolutely as he flicked switches and pressed buttons.

Soon enough, they were through the ion cloud – which  _had_ played merry hob with their radar – and charging into the middle of an Alliance fleet with Reavers right behind them.

Chaos ensued, with just a touch of panic around the edges to keep things interesting.

Even with both of them at the helm, with all the chaos around them of the fleet of Alliance ships meeting the horde of Reaver ships in the air all around them, it was almost inevitable that  _something_ would hit them. It was just particularly unfortunate that whatever hit them took out the power to one of the jets and blew the back-up as well.

“We're fried!” Wash complained as he frantically checked buttons. “I got no control!”

“Back up reads thirty percent,” Clint supplied a moment later from the co-pilot's chair. “River, Kaylee, you down there?”

“Can't give you any more,” Kaylee answered. “Got things blowing up, and the arc-reactor's been completely disconnected. Took River an' me _two hours_ to get it hooked up the first time, an' that was when we _weren't_ spinning around in the sky!”

They were going to have to glide  _Serenity_ in. With a Reaver ship on their tail as well.

Clint retracted the landing gears that Wash had put out. He knew they'd just break off the moment they hit the ground at speed. A couple of bounces later, and they were skidding. Clint lowered the landing gears  _then_ , the extra friction slowed them down a little more, even as they screeched from the drag and  _Serenity_ did a tidy one-eighty under Clint's command to try and lose a little  _more_ forward momentum.

Finally, they stopped – and just before  _Serenity_ would have tipped into a lower bay too. Clint was out of his chair immediately.

“Gloat about the landing later, work to do now,” he reminded Wash briskly.

“Right,” the senior pilot agreed, and unclipped himself and got out of his chair. A Reaver harpoon went right through his chair not a breath of a moment later. Wash stared in horror at where he'd been sitting, visions of his own mortality flashing before his eyes. Then Clint grabbed him and dragged him out of the bridge as _more_ harpoons were fired at them. “Way too close,” the pilot breathed as he got his feet under him and ran to follow Clint down to where everyone else was waiting for them.

“That was smoother than I expected for a glide-landing,” Mal said, eyes a little wide with the adrenaline that had been shot through his system already.

“Barton's had to glide in a craft one engine short before,” Loki offered with a proud sort of smile.

“As I recall, _you're_ the one who shot out that engine,” Clint quipped back.

“Would you have preferred I shot that pretty red-head sitting beside you? I could have,” Loki answered. “It would have risked _you_ being hurt, but I had supreme confidence in your flying ability to see you land and be able to walk away from it.”

“Not the time to be rehashing old fights,” Jayne insisted as he pushed between the two of them with his many weapons and spare ammunition strapped to his person.

Clint silently eye-balled Loki for a moment before he turned and moved to walk level with River – so that she could hand him the weapons she'd been holding for him (in addition to her own) while he'd been on the bridge.

“JARVIS?” Mal asked as the ear pieces were checked and the cargo bay doors were opened.

“A small ship went ahead of the rest of the fleet to dispatch Mr Universe and destroy his system before rejoining the main fleet. They did, as I predicted, miss the back-up unit over the generator,” the AI supplied. “It is, however, nigh inaccessible.”

“Something can be _done_ about that, right?” Mal asked, a little desperately. No more fear, but a whole lot of determination to _not_ trip at the finishing line.

“It will take me a moment, but I can certainly raise the walkway into an appropriate position,” JARVIS answered.

“Hold off on that until I give the word,” Mal requested. “Don't want any Alliance stooges to be able to get to it and wreck it before I get there.”

“Of course Sir,” JARVIS agreed.

The group, well armed, ran down the halls.

“This is a good place to hold them,” Zoe declared as she looked around the room with crates and a set of blast doors.

“We stick together,” Mal said firmly.

“Sir,” Zoe countered. “We can bottleneck them _here_. Slow them down _here_. If we _do_ start to get overwhelmed, then those a blast door.”

“I can rig 'em so they won't open from the outside,” Kaylee offered.

“Then you do that and you hide,” Mal insisted.

“This is the place,” Zoe told her captain. “We'll buy you the time.”

Mal frowned, but he knew that they _were_ pressed for time.

“We'll be here standing on a pile of Reaver corpses when you get back,” Clint promised absently as he checked to make sure there wasn't anything in the crates that would explode.

Loki smirked. “Thor will be so  _jealous_ when I return to Asgard with tales of  _this_ battle,” he added with the dark pleasure of a little brother about to one-up his elder (more popular) brother.

“ _Ni Men Dou Shi Sha Gua_ ,” Mal muttered as he shook his head. “Alright,” he allowed. “Just _don't die_ ,” he ordered, looking each member of his crew in the eye – Zoe, Jayne, Wash, Kaylee Clint, Shepherd Book, Inara, and River. He passed over Simon on his way from Kaylee to River, but the Core boy (for all that he was 'their doctor') still wasn't properly crew yet.

“Brought too much ammo to be taken out any time soon,” Jayne growled in answer.

And Mal was off down the hall to the elevator – JARVIS giving him directions for the quickest way to the generator.

“Crates okay for cover?” Jayne asked Clint as he moved to the other end of one Clint had just checked.

“Nothing in them is going to blow us up,” Clint agreed, and the two of them started shifting the steel crates into a semblance of a wall. The others quickly followed their lead.

The last crate, a big, heavy thing just about the width of the door they'd come through, was pushed into place to block it – but only  _after_ Jayne had lobbed one of his grenades through it at the Reavers that were rushing them.

“This is _not_ how you're supposed to fight zombies, ask any horror movie,” Clint muttered to himself as he settled down next to River.

“Not infectious undead,” River answered with a smirk. A smirk which quickly fell away as she brought a hand up to her head. “They're all made up of rage,” she whimpered. Tears began to cloud her eyes as her face crumpled in pain.

Clint grabbed her shoulder and forced her around to face him, to look him in the eye. “ _Go Hwong Tong_ ,” he said gently, but firmly as he brought River's hand down from where she'd tangled it in her hair. “ _Focus_ , River. Do. Not.  _Bao Xin Jiu Huo_ . There is  _no_ sound in your ears that is not what you need to hear to  _find_ your enemy and  _shoot them down_ . When faced with a  _Ching Soh_ , we must  _Fahn Dahn_ . We are all that stands between those we care about, and death. Will you stand aside?” he asked her seriously, his voice soft.

“ _Choo fay wuh sih leh_ ,” River answered firmly.

On Clint's other side, Inara took a deep breath. “ _Rung Tse Fwo Tzoo Bao Yo Wuo Muhn_ ,” she murmured.

“What happens when we run out of ammo?” Wash dared to ask, a little tremulously.

“Then you all get behind the blast doors while Barton, Miss Tam and I will get to find out who is better with a blade,” Loki answered him.

Then the first Reaver twisted the blocked door open enough to stick his head through – and Zoe got the first shot off.

“No,” Simon objected. “You're not -!”

“ _Bi Jweh_ Simon,” River ordered casually, but firmly.

She pushed him through the blast doors herself when the time came, threw him almost all the way to the other end of the hall – and his bag with him – before the doors shut. Simon had other things to worry about anyway. Kaylee and Shepherd Book had both been caught by some nasty,  _spiked_ Reaver ammo that was probably covered in poison as well.

And Mal had rejoined them. Beaten, limping, bleeding. Apparently the operative that had been chasing River had reached the generator and the back-up unit not long after Mal had, and since Mal was determined to share with the universe one of the secrets that it was the operative's job to make sure  _didn't_ get shared around, well, they'd had a bit of a disagreement.

The three of them on the outside of the blast doors moved in almost surprising concert. Perhaps it shouldn't have been so surprising though. Loki was a warrior of thousands of years. Clint, not so long ago for himself personally, had been forcibly made privy to the full knowledge of how best his own method of battle could best compliment Loki's – the “glow-stick of destiny” really was a  _very_ efficient horror – and he'd been training with River for the past almost-year. River the Reader.

It was like they'd  _rehearsed_ it.

Of course, Clint – being a guy approaching his mid-thirties – wasn't quite as spry and bendy as River, and didn't have Loki's amazing powers of instant-injury-removal, so he took a few more hits than either of them. Nothing serious though. Mostly just scratches and such. Things he'd want to get some jabs for to make sure he didn't get anything nasty from later, but nothing that seriously hindered his fighting ability. Nothing like Mal's state. Clint, after all, wasn't being distracted from  _his_ fight by trying to do something else at the same time.

And he had help.

And then the Reavers stopped coming.

“Is that all of them?” Loki asked, surprised as he looked down at all the bodies that were piled up around the room.

The three of them were standing on top of a few corpses, but there were more around the sides, where they'd been pushed out of the way so that they wouldn't be tripped over.

Clint looked over at River for confirmation.

“Alliance,” she said, and tightened her grips on the axe and sword – both of which were _dripping_ blood – that she'd taken from the Reavers not long into the fight.

A wall was pulled out and men in uniforms moved in, guns raised, light flooding into the dark room from behind them. The soldiers didn't come in far before they stopped and looked around at all the dead Reavers.

“Well, if we'd _known_ you were coming, we'd have _saved_ you a couple,” Clint said drolly, and adjusted the grip he had on his sword to start pulling arrows out of corpses. He'd check them over properly later. He was going to have to make a few more while he was at it too. Some of the arrows he'd fired had been tipped with explosives.

“Targets acquired. Do we have a kill order?” one of the soldiers requested.

“Stand down,” the voice of the operative ordered – and it echoed from every soldier's helmet. “It's finished.”

Every gun was lowered.

~oOo~

“Who _are_ you?” the operative asked Clint while he worked on fixing up a part that would be attached to _Serenity_ as soon as he was done.

“Clint Barton,” he answered without looking up from his soldering iron. “Yourself? Because I don't buy that 'you have no name or rank' bullshit. Your parents must have called you _something_ when you were born.”

There was silence to answer him. Clint finished the bit he was working on, and looked up at the darkly-skinned man who was  _once_ a devout believer in the Alliance and all that it claimed to represent.

“Well?” Clint pressed. “If you don't give me an answer for yourself I'm just going to start calling you Joe.”

The operative frowned – or his forehead did. It all bunched up between his eyebrows as they came down in confusion. “Why 'Joe'?” he asked.

Clint shrugged absently. “So, Joe. Why aren't you dead yet?” he asked.

The operative blinked, and his confused expression eased into careful neutrality. “Captain Reynolds wanted me to see what my 'world without sin' looked like,” he answered. “It was... not what I thought it would be.”

Clint ticked up one corner of his mouth. It wasn't a smile though. It was an expression that invited elaboration.

“The broad-wave has caused an uproar. There are riots, protests, cries for a recall of the _entire_ Parliament,” the operative said.

Clint shrugged and bent down over his task again. “We  _have_ all kept abreast of the situation,” he said as he picked up his soldering iron and some wire. Actually, it was JARVIS that had kept track of it all, and informed the crew of pertinent details.

“Are you pleased?” the operative asked, almost sharply. “I'm certain that captain must be.”

“Captain's more concerned about getting work,” Clint answered absently. “He didn't do this because he was a soldier in the war. He did this because it was in front of him to be done and doing it was the _right thing_. He's the Big Damn Hero type, I think Inara called him once.”

“You didn't say if _you_ were,” the operative pointed out, “and that _is_ what I actually asked.”

Clint shrugged. “No government body should be blindly trusted,” he said. “A little shake up every now and then is good for people, and a change is as good as a holiday, I remember one of my old bosses told me once.”

It had been Phil, when he was approaching Clint about joining SHIELD.

“I can't guarantee they won't come after you. The Parliament,” the operative said. “That they won't come after every single person on this ship. They aren't exactly _forgiving_.”

Clint grunted in assent. “They survive this thing without  _more_ dirty laundry being aired, maybe they'll have time for us. You, on the other hand...” he left off.

The operative nodded. “You're right,” he agreed. “I've told them that the Tams are no longer a threat. Damage done. They might listen, but I'm fairly sure they know that I'm no longer...  _their man_ .”

Clint hummed and reached for his pliers. “Quite the upheaval for you, actually  _learning_ some of the secrets that the Alliance has had you killing to keep,” he pointed out.

The operative was silent again. Clint would have thought he'd left, except that the operative was wearing the sort of shiny shoes that  _always_ make a clipping sound when you walk in them, however lightly you tread – and granted he was deaf in one ear, but that was  _only_ one ear, and the man was  _right there_ . He'd have heard.

“How do you go on?” the operative asked at last. “When you've lost everything,” he clarified when Clint looked up at him questioningly. “Everything you had, everything you believed in. How do you go on when it's gone?”

“One day at a time,” Clint answered. “Breathe in, breathe out, find something new. I don't expect you'll get much of a chance to do that though,” he added. “Don't expect to see you again.”

“You won't,” the operative agreed. “There is nothing left to see.”

Clint nodded, and this time when he turned back to his work, he  _did_ hear the man's shoes gently clipping away.

The sound was eclipsed by the lower, gentle thud of a pair of boots walking up to him. He knew those boots. It was Loki. Unlike that time in his apartment in Stark Tower so long ago, Clint  _didn't_ look up. He  _didn't_ visibly acknowledge the interloper. Loki was now no longer categorised as a “must be watched  _very_ carefully whenever he shows his face”-level threat. He'd been re-classed in the “don't forget he's dangerous just because he's on your side now – because it may only be  _for now_ ” category.

“Clint,” Loki said softly.

“What do you want, Loki?” he answered, staying focused on his task.

“You.”

The answer seemed to come without thought, and Clint snapped his head up to look Loki in the face, to class  _exactly_ how  _intended_ that word was.

Loki's eyes were wide and there was a hand over his mouth. Apparently he  _hadn't_ thought, just answered. “I am sorry, Master, I was out of line,” Loki said and quickly got down on one knee in front of Clint, his head bowed and both hands resting, in plain sight, on the other knee.

Clint grunted and returned his attention to his part-fixing. “Is there some reason you haven't  _left_ yet?” he asked after a few silent minutes throughout which Loki  _didn't move_ .

“I...” Loki hesitated. “Will you become _involved_ with Miss Tam?” he asked.

“Don't know,” Clint answered shortly, “and I don't see how it's your business. Now, unless you have something else important to say or you're actually interested in helping to repair the ship, kindly piss off.”

“As you wish, Master,” Loki said softly, a little sadly.

When Clint looked up again, Loki was gone, and when he got back to his bunk, River was waiting for him, patiently cleaning the axe and the sword she had taken from the Reavers. The first in her  _own_ collection of weapons.


End file.
